


Overwatch: Someday a Dreamer

by EhMattissimo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, F/F, Friendship/Love, Lesbian Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EhMattissimo/pseuds/EhMattissimo
Summary: The Second Omnic Crisis has started, yet everything has changed since the first war. Talon is now a larger threat than ever, and without the backing of the U.N., can Overwatch hope to, once again, save humanity? Winston enlists the help of Tracer and Pharah to help him strengthen Overwatch anew. What both young women don't know, is that their lives are about to change forever...





	1. Chapter 1

Tracer

 

                It was a faint light, but a light all the same. It always brought her back. Back to reality. Back to life. Back in time. Back to a human being. It was her soul manifested; at least, it may as well have been. Thus, when the spunky Brit’s eyes cracked open and she saw the familiar pale hue of her chronal accelerator resting on a nearby chair, a sense of comfort could be found.

                She felt around the other side of the bed and noticed her heart sink. Emily hadn’t stayed the night. She had work early the next day and didn’t like disturbing Lena if she could help it no matter how much her girlfriend attempted to convince her otherwise.

                The room felt bigger, despite the apartment being somewhat small and nestled away amongst hundreds of others in King’s Row. Tracer rolled over and stared at the pastel ceiling, brushing some messy, brunette locks of hair from her wondering eyes. The restlessness always hit her hard at night. She could just barely make out some noise in the streets of her old stomping grounds. Was it another fight? Was it just a passionate conversation? Was it a pair of drunks?

                Should she gear up and put a stop to it? No. She shouldn’t. No matter how desperately she wanted to, Overwatch was disbanded for a reason…even if that reason made little sense to an idealist like Lena Oxton. Acting under the banner of Overwatch was literally against the law now, and every time Lena reminded herself of that, the pit in her stomach threatened to consume her.

                It was nights like this one that she needed Emily more than ever. Overwatch gave her life such purpose and meaning. Now, she was forced to keep her head low and only work seldom as something of a freelance everyman. She couldn’t live off her savings forever, and if she and Emily were to get serious, Tracer needed to pull her weight in the relationship as well.

                It was difficult, however.

                Tracer had a taste of what it felt like to be – almost quite truthfully – a hero. She participated in the act of shutting down the various God Programs that wreaked havoc in the Omnic War, and not only that, but she had saved _so_ many people because of Overwatch’s heroism. Why did it all have to fall apart? And why did this same dialogue run through Lena’s brain even years after the fact? It felt like yesterday, but that was hardly the case.

                Tracer turned again and huffed, reaching for her phone and preparing herself to send Emily a text. Such a simple act would be enough to calm her spirit some.

                It’s then that she saw it. A message from a dear, dear friend. Her savior. She owed him her life. It was as simple as that. Tracer sat up, pulling at her yellow short shorts and fixing her loose, white t-shirt. She blew at her troublesome hair and felt her consciousness snap awake as she tapped to open the attachment.

                Winston began speaking, and as his speech went on, Tracer’s pulse quickened, her breaths coming out in hisses of anticipation. This sort of night had happened so often Tracer wondered if she was dreaming. An ending with Winston contacting her had never occurred. The excited girl pinched herself as images of devastation across the globe flickered over her phone. Crazed omnics. Terrorist attacks. Suffering children and a screaming mother. The last one hit Lena hard. Goosebumps pervaded her body as she stood up, her legs buzzing as if remembering what she was capable of on the battlefield.

                The message ended, and Tracer hit the call button immediately. The gruff, intelligent voice of the most incredible primate in the world answered.

                “Hmm? T-Tracer? You’re up?”

                ‘I’m in, that’s what I am.’ Tracer heard herself speaking in the middle of the night, and she continued to fight against the idea this was all a dream. She didn’t want to wake up.

                “…Are you certain? We would be operating against the government, with no support whatsoever. It’s not like it was. It wouldn’t be safe. We would officially be criminals. A normal life wouldn’t be possible in the foreseeable future.”

                This gave Lena some pause. She could only think of Emily. That was her only restriction. As much as she tried to hide it, she and Emily were somewhat known in King’s Row. Lena’s infamy proceeded her. She wasn’t outwardly hated, fortunately, but there was _some_ level of hesitation by a few because of her previous status as an Overwatch Agent.

                Still…

                ‘I know. I understand, Winston.’ She thought she did, but then Tracer pictured her girlfriend’s gorgeous red hair and her charming smile. She thought of the hot chocolate they would indulge in together and the long talks into the night. Was she truly willing to risk all that for a potentially hopeless endeavour?

                ‘Can I ask a question though?’ Tracer’s voice softened, and that in and of itself was a rare occurrence.

                “Go ahead.”

                ‘Is something really happening?’

                It was purposely vague, but Lena knew Winston was more than capable of picking up on her meaning. He growled into the phone, a sigh she recognized all too well.

                “…Yes. Without a doubt. It’s the second coming, of that I am certain. Except this time, I suspect Talon will be even more active than ever before. I see the signs, but the U.N. refuses to acknowledge it just yet. By the time they do, it will be far too late.”

                ‘Those images you sent…they were all recent?’

                “Too recent.”

                Tracer closed her eyes and pushed her free hand through her hair. She didn’t have a choice. She was one of the few select individuals capable of fighting beyond the scope of a normal human’s capabilities.

                ‘Emily…’

                “Yes. It would mean leaving her for a time. You _may_ be able to visit on the rare occasion, but I can’t make any promises. If Overwatch was accepted as an official group, that would be one thing, but…”

                ‘She might be in danger because of me. If the U.N. decides to play dirty, she could be used against us.’

                “Precisely. I can, perhaps, manage to use an agent to act as an undercover bodyguard, but I can make no further promises.”

                ‘Right. Right.’ Tracer rubbed her forehead. ‘Oi. This is tough. I’m definitely in. I am. I have to be. But…’

                “Lena…” Winston spoke sympathetically. “I foolishly sent this message late. I…had technical difficulties. It’s sometimes more problematic to consider things clearly in the middle of the night. Think on it. Contact me tomorrow or even the day after.”

                ‘Every hour I hesitate more innocent people are in danger. I can’t be selfish.’

                “You’re human, Tracer. I understand if you decide against it. I…I don’t expect a positive reception to my plea.”

                ‘Winston…’ Tracer sat back down and rubbed her eyes. She glanced to her chronal accelerator and back to the empty space in her bed. She nodded to herself, and steadied her tone. ‘Okay. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.’

                “Good. Rest well, Lena.”

                ‘You too, big guy.’

                “Thank-you for calling me.”

                ‘Heh. No problem. It was nice to hear your voice again.’

                “Same. Um…back at you. I, well, yes. You know what I mean.”

                ‘Heheh! Bye, Winston.’

                Silence. Tracer’s phone returned to the home screen, where a shot of her and Emily tortured her. Tracer was kissing Emily on the cheek, and her slightly sheepish girlfriend was blushing so hard her adorable freckles were nearly hidden.

                ‘Oh, boy. This is not going to be easy…’

                But Tracer knew what she had to do, and come the next day, she would make the harsh decision that would shape the rest of her life for better or for worse.


	2. Pharah

 

 

                She could see precisely why the amazing doctor had chosen to assist in such a war-torn country. Iraq was almost in shambles compared to Egypt. The moment Fareeha stepped out of the arranged, dedicated aircraft, she could practically _feel_ how brutally compromised the terrain and, in effect, the people were thanks to the first Omnic Crisis. So many years had passes, yet little had changed. This poor country wasn’t equipped whatsoever to contend with the God Program on top of its unstable presence within the world as a whole.

                ‘Will you be alright from here on out, Ms. Amari?’ The pilot was standing next to her, evidently as shocked by the state of the city as his passenger.

                ‘Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank-you.’ Fareeha pulled at her suitcase, belying her slight hesitation. According to her mission, her objective was in a secluded hospital in the outskirts of Baghdad. Its existence was supposed to be something of a mystery, and Fareeha could only imagine why.

                ‘Well, I’ll be off for now, then. Contact me when you’re ready. If I don’t hear from you, the specified rendezvous point and time will be as stated prior.’

                ‘Affirmative.’

                ‘Be careful. Our resources and contacts got us in easily enough, but this is one of the most dangerous countries in the world right now. ISIS is bad enough, but if Talon is lurking around too, things can get messy real quick.’

                Fareeha glanced at the man, his messy facial hair irritating her for some reason. He sounded like a coward as well. Perhaps the notion was what truly pinched at her nerves.

                ‘That’s where my training comes in, right?’

                ‘All the training on the planet can’t beat numbers, I’m afraid. Your mother was the best shot in the world, and…’

                ‘Excuse me?’ Fareeha’s sharp eyes flashed, her patience shattered in one fell swoop.

                The pilot knew his error immediately, and he stammered out an apology, scratching the back of his neck.

                ‘I-I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.’

                ‘It was.’ The curt Egyptian agreed, pushing forward in an attempt to still the anger boiling in her gut.

                ‘Good luck.’ The man endeavoured to soften the edge in the conversation, but Fareeha was already forgetting about him. She didn’t even recall his name. Too many details in such a little amount of time.

 

***

 

                _“Fareeha Amari?”_

_The voice hit something in her memory banks. She could never have placed it exactly, but she knew the sound somehow._

_‘Who is this?’_

_“Oh, my. You_ do _sound similar to her.”_

_‘Is this a prank?’_

_“No! No. Not at all. Are you alone?”_

_‘That isn’t any of your business.’_

_“Hm! Cautious. Very good.”_

_‘I’m hanging up now. I’m also reporting this number.’_

_“Wait! It’s Winston!”_

_She knew the name, and in that moment, the connections were made. Her childhood erupted. The old idolization burst into her chest and her eyes burned with emotions she actively worked to keep in check at all times._

_‘Winston…?_ The _Winston? How…? But why…?’_

_“Heheh. You’re Ana’s daughter, aren’t you?”_

_‘…Yes.’_

_“That’s partially why. The other parts are your location and your admirable credentials. Any relative of Ana is an individual I know I can trust.”_

_It was flattering despite her neck feeling as though it was being throttled. Mention of her mother always made Fareeha bitter. It was so difficult to control even after so much time had passed._

_‘Why did you call me?’ Fareeha could only ask, staring out her tiny apartment’s window into the darkness of her fair city. She could see her reflection. Her raven hair was damp with sweat from work still, and her dark skin gleamed with a shimmer of moisture. The tattoo around her right eye seemed more prominent, and her strong gaze was blurring for some reason._

_“Because I can hesitate no longer. I am recalling Overwatch, and I need your help to assemble its key members once again.”_

_‘You…want me to join Overwatch?’_

_“If you would be willing, yes. You would be an undeniable asset, I am sure.”_

_Fareeha knelt down, her black tank top riding up her back and her tight shorts stretching over her muscular legs. At thirty-two she had given up on her dreams. So, why now? Why when she thought she had buried the hatchet? The emotions swirling through her hardened mind were overwhelming her. All she knew was that her answer was simple enough for now. The if, when, how, why, where, who, and what of it all could wait. Uncharacteristically, Fareeha threw caution to the wind._

_‘What do you need me to do, Winston?’_

***

 

                As Fareeha moved through Baghdad, the rashness of her decision continued to sink in. She checked her phone, thanking the Gods that there was some form of reception, if shaky at its very best. She reviewed the details of her mission, and easily circumnavigated the map provided. As someone who had trained rigorously in the army, this was all simple enough to work with.

                She was an Overwatch agent now. Winston had given her all the risks and she accepted the terms regardless. Her first mission was paramount to Overwatch’s success. She felt the burden of everything at once. Fareeha’s broad shoulders buckled, but her resolve wouldn’t be shaken.

                ‘ _Spare some change? Just a tiny bit. Enough for a drink_.’ A man asked in his native tongue. Fareeha could assume what he wanted, but she had no choice but to ignore his begging. She couldn’t draw attention to herself, and she didn’t have enough for all the others that lurked every which way. Her heart broke, but she had been trained to mitigate the damage enough to maintain functionality.

                The buildings became more decrepit as she neared the location dictated in her instructions. More homeless and beggars. More families huddled together in a bundle. More scrap metal and remains of omnics. A forgotten piece of the city. The country. The world.

                Fareeha bit at the inside of her mouth and blinked for a second longer than necessary. This was more difficult than she imagined. Still so soft. Too soft. Her mother would have never been so affected on a mission.

                The hospital came into sight. At least, Fareeha assumed it was the “hospital”. In truth, it was just a building that was slightly less destroyed than the others. Nonetheless, the volume of people had increased exponentially, and when a man rushed past Fareeha with a body in tow, the newest member of Overwatch knew she was in the right place. Considering the number of individuals present, however, the level of noise was minor, only hushed whispering occurring, flexing briefly when Fareeha stepped up to the building. Two somewhat larger men stared her down, both of them equipped with guns and a dirty, powerful scowl that would frighten most.

                Fareeha wasn’t like most.

                ‘I’m here to see the doctor.’

                The larger and hairier of the two men nodded at Fareeha’s suitcase.

                ‘Full check.’ He stated quite clearly.

                Fareeha released her baggage and passed the men her own handgun that she carried at her side before lifting her arms. Both guards went to work, seeming thankful that she was being so co-operative. They were very thorough; uncomfortably so. She understood their purpose, but her body couldn’t help but tense up.

                ‘Clear.’

                ‘Dr. Ziegler is very busy. Urgent?’

                ‘No. I just need to speak with her.’

                Fareeha waited for the men to converse silently, finally the bigger of the two nodding inside for Fareeha to follow. She had to leave her suitcase and gun with her guide.

                The smell was the first thing Fareeha noticed. Anesthetics were the primary powerful scent, but something far more foul was mixed in with the medicinal treatment taking place. It was the inevitable odour of injury. Fareeha thought she knew it well, but this was on another level. The guard was used to it. His nose had grown accustomed to the decay.

                Passing through sheets of privacy and beds upon beds of the injured, Fareeha tried to stay out of the way, noting the way the doctors and nurses scrambled with an unparalleled sense of purpose. It wasn’t quite chaotic, but it was no first world medical facility either.

                Fareeha could hear her before she saw her. A thick, swiss accent was speaking softly, soothing a patient perhaps. The guard looked back to Fareeha, his eyes saying everything he wanted to relay. They were desperate but lethal. If Fareeha showed even a hint of threatening action, he wouldn’t waste a second killing her.

                ‘Our angel.’ He stated quite clearly, and he pulled the curtain to reveal the nanobiologist, world-famous, genius doctor and surgeon, Angela Ziegler, known as Mercy when she was part of Overwatch. Fareeha had seen pictures, and even had vague memories from her past, but those were both romanticized, heavily edited presentations of the woman. What Fareeha saw now was the truth about the doctor.

                Angela’s blonde hair was matted and stuck to her perspiring face. Blotches padded out her thinning cheeks, and her lab coat was tearing in various places. She was a mess. She was drained. She was obviously not eating properly. But her eyes were pure and powerful as she stitched up an enormous gash across a little girl’s leg. Her voice continued to whisper, almost humming, and despite Mercy’s state, Fareeha couldn’t deny the thought that passed through her mind without a singular filter:

                This woman was stunning in every imaginable way.

                Fareeha was not a small individual, but she felt like a dwarf in comparison. Here she was, on a seemingly selfish mission with only her own excitement and pride to fulfill her, standing before a prodigy who could have it all, but chose to be in one of the most dangerous and trying countries the world’s circumstances could create in order to serve those who couldn’t help themselves anymore.

                It felt like seconds went by as Fareeha observed Angela work, but almost an hour passed before Mercy finally looked up from her patient, wiping more sweat from her brow and shushing the small girl to rest.

                ‘Ana?’ The woman cocked her head, but then breathed out, standing and approaching Fareeha. ‘No. Of course not. You’re…Fareeha?’

                ‘Y-yes.’ Fareeha stammered, her knees weak. She was a full four inches taller than the doctor, but it was as though she were a child again. Fareeha rarely felt intimidated, but this was becoming more of a rare occasion by the minute.

                Angela’s face hardened, and she looked to the guard before addressing her fellow doctors, nurses, and surgeons.

                ‘Give us a moment. I won’t be long.’ Mercy stated clearly, and Fareeha had a sinking feeling she was quite right.


	3. Widowmaker

 

 

_‘Bend your back further. Further. Further. Further!’_

_‘It cannot bend_ further _!’_

_‘Oh? Truly?’_

_‘Ah!’_

_‘There. Now, rise up.’_

_‘It hurts!’_

_‘Of course, it does. Balance upon the tip of your toes.’_

_‘I cannot!’_

_‘Cannot! Cannot! Cannot! Truly a pathetic child! You_ will _not! There is a mortifying difference.’_

_‘Hrg…’_

_‘Tsk. Pain should be embraced, not feared. Enduring pain is what will separate you from the rest. You are built for this. You have the potential to be a legend. Pain is frightening you, but it is only proof that you are alive. How can any soul relish in pleasure if there is no pain? The pleasure you will feel cannot be paralleled should you take your ballet seriously. I have trained hundreds, but none fill me with as much anticipation as you.’_

_‘Madam?’_

_‘Face forward. Rise. Good. Again. Again. Again. Stop shaking. Head up now. Expose your neck. It is undervalued as a sexual stimulus. You have a beautiful, long neck. Present it.’_

_‘Like this?’_

_‘Yes. Perfect. Now – ’_

_‘Eek!’_

_‘For the love of…What is it, child?’_

_‘A-a spider…’_

 

***

 

                ‘Do you understand, Widowmaker?’

                Widow browsed through the projected screen before her, her yellow eyes scanning robotically, spastically analyzing the data presented to the minute of details. So much unnecessary jargon. The final line was all she needed to know beyond the date and time.

                “Assassinate Tekhartha Mondatta in King’s Row.”

                ‘Affirmative.’ Widow hissed, turning from the mission’s private meeting.

                ‘You will be leaving in approximately two hours. Prepare your body and mind, for this is paramount to Talon’s presence within the world.’

                Widow continued walking, her heels clicking upon the flooring as she did so. She was one of the few members of the terrorist group who got away with doing as she pleased outside of regular duties. Reaper was another, but for entirely different reasons.

                The greatest sniper in the world. She had that title. The most dangerous assassin ever to be created. She had that title as well. The operative word was “created”, but even that hardly fazed the woman. Skin blue due to an artificially slowed heart, eyes surgically enhanced, and brain utterly compromised from neural reconditioning, left the once respectable woman, Amelie Guillard, as nothing more than a killing, emotionless machine.

                However, “emotionless” may have been a slight dramatization. True, Widow was quite aware she “felt” far less than most, but she couldn’t deny the thrill of the kill; her only driving force and purpose. When she wasn’t on a mission of some form, she was aimless, staring into nothingness until called upon. This was just her life. It was a life she had come to understand and accept. She went into “sleep mode” when there was no use for her.

                ‘Heard you have a big job coming, Widowmaker. Mind telling us what it’s all about?’ A fellow Talon member asked. He and his friend(?) were in full gear save for their helmets. Widow envied them. Were they going to kill sooner than her?

                ‘Did you hear me?’

                Two hours. Two hours until departure and then another several until landing. Then, between one and three more hours depending on the schedule of everyone involved. So much time. Widow was triggered already. She was anticipating the kill. She was aptly named.

                ‘It’s like talking to a wall…’

                ‘Do you need something?’ Widow finally answered, looking down upon the men. She was an imposing woman at 5’9” naturally, but her heels propped her to an easy 6’ height. Her voice was ice, with only a hint of interest thanks to the passing thought of killing one of these men. Talon had more than enough grunts. What would it mean to be down one measly, useless individual?

                ‘You just got a job, right?’

                ‘Correct.’

                ‘Who you gotta kill now?’

                Something tugged at the side of Widow’s mouth, her gaze flashing with venom.

                ‘It’s classified.’

                ‘See? Tight-lipped as always.’

                ‘As always is right. Wish I could find out just _how_ tight-lipped, if you know what I mean?’

                ‘Hell yeah. Maybe we could help her out with all that frustration she’s bound to be feeling by now, huh?’

                Widow may not feel anything, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t comprehend such vulgar rhetoric.

                ‘Are you suggesting that you could ease the longing boiling within my womb?’ She stepped in close, her face mere inches from one of the men’s. Despite her blue skin, Widowmaker _was_ a picture of otherworldly beauty. Her tight, somewhat exposing, dark purple bodysuit didn’t exactly help matters, primarily when paired with her perfect body that accentuated every feature a woman could dream of. However, the man couldn’t enjoy the intimate notion, for even he could tell that danger was close. Indeed, it was primal, and he backed off skittishly, perhaps aware that Widow was seconds away from breaking one of his arms or worse.

                ‘Let’s go…’ He muttered, shrinking in size next to his comrade as they skulked away.

                ‘ _Goodbye_.’ Widow sighed in French, proceeding back to her temporary room. More grunts passed her by, and while they looked upon her with awe and intrigue, as was always the case, no others attempted to make contact. It was as it should be. Widow was surprised those two men had the gall to speak with her. Were they new? That was the only explanation. It was amusing enough, in the end.

                Widow found her room, assuming this to be the best place to “prepare her body and mind”. The door slid open easily enough, but when Widow took a single step more, she stopped at the entranceway, her eyes snapping to her left.

                ‘What might you be doing here?’ She asked before seeing the shadow that lurked in her tiny space. The mass of darkness shifted, almost transforming as it moved from a ghostly cloud of black smoke into a humanoid shape from every child’s nightmare. Reaper huffed deeply, his nearly deranged, deep vocals vibrating the confined space. He shut the door behind Widow, crossing his arms as she took a seat on her bed.

                ‘You’ve been given your mission?’

                ‘But of course.’

                ‘And?’

                ‘It will not be a problem.’

                ‘Security will be on full alert. Talon’s existence remains on everyone’s mind. They’ll be expecting _something_ considering our recent activities.’

                Widow shivered. The more difficult the kill, the more she _felt_ something.

                ‘All the better.’

                ‘Tekhartha Mondatta supports harmony between humans and omnics.’

                ‘I couldn’t care less what he supports. If he needs to be killed, I kill him. The details are irrelevant.’

                Reaper shifted in space. Even with a mask, Widow could tell he was irritated for some reason.

                ‘Overwatch will be there.’

                This perked Widow’s ears. Not only that, but the name of the “heroes of justice” never failed to pinch deep in her soul. It hurt. She didn’t like it.

                ‘Overwatch is dead.’

                ‘No. Not in the slightest. As our actions escalate, so will theirs. Overwatch is coming back.’

                Widow thought about it for a moment, but then shrugged.

                ‘Why do you tell me this?’

                ‘Because if they’re present, your kill becomes far more of a challenge. This mission must succeed if we wish to move forward with Talon’s endgame.’

                ‘Again, why tell me this? I only desire to kill. Talon means nothing to me. We use one another. That is all. Give and take. They provide me with such facilities, I kill whomever they wish.’

                Reaper grunted, allowing himself out.

                ‘Overwatch has enlisted the only ones capable of stopping us. Be cautious.’

                Widow didn’t feel the need to answer. Reaper’s presence finally disappeared, and the woman lay back upon her bed, staring at the perfectly smooth ceiling. She rested her hands upon her chest, and felt her heartbeat, it’s rhythm alarmingly slow.

                Reaper’s words of caution were wasted on Widow. Overwatch didn’t frighten her. If anything, she was hoping to encounter an agent or two. That would give her even more ecstasy. Her finest kill couldn’t come quicker. She practically wanted to contact Overwatch herself and flaunt her mission in their miserable faces. Overwatch couldn’t stop her. Overwatch was nothing more than –

                Something pulled through Widow’s brain, as though a string was wrapped around her mind and compressed her thoughts. A white-hot pain shocked her nerves, and the floor slammed into Widow’s face before she could comprehend what was happening. A ringing sounded within the woman’s ear, and her teeth grinded in agony.

                A face was filling her thoughts. Black hair. A tiny mustache. A confident smile. Images flickered. Blood. Screaming. Gouging. Stabbing. Prying. Ripping. More screaming. Laughing. Her feet hurt. Her toes hurt. Her back hurt. Her stomach ached. A spider crawled into her nose and laid its eggs within her skull. Widow reeled upon the ground, bashing the side of her head on the concrete and digging her nails into the ground until they snapped and trailed streaks of dark blood. She felt Reaper’s presence again for a split second, but the images infiltrating her sense of self were too prominent. She held a bar, and her spine was snapping. A rope throttled her neck.

                The door slid open and a group of Talon’s medical team poured into the room. A cold substance touched just below Widow’s left ear, but she shrugged it off, easily combating each and every individual that attempted to deal with her outburst. Widow fought with the onslaught of images as her mind lost all semblance of reasoning. What was she doing here? Why did she listen to Talon? Where was she? Who were these men? Why was her skin blue? Did she always have this tattoo?

                ‘Reset her, please.’ One of the men in the very back sighed begrudgingly.

                Reset? Widow’s eyes stretched open, and the pause in her resistance was all the men needed. A pinch pierced her neck, and a chemical swirled through her nerves. Blackness came, and it came with a hint of relief.

 

***

 

                _‘Oh, sweet child. A spider is nothing to fear. It is certainly not worth breaking your posture over.’_

_‘But…’_

_‘There. See? A flick and it is gone. The only reason you should dislike a spider is because it feels nothing. It is the complete opposite of what your dance encompasses.’_

_‘Pardon?’_

_‘Emotion is what moves the human spirit. It is what connects us all. Your dance transfers the complexity of feelings without a single word. A spider could never do such a thing. They are emotionless, pathetic creatures, living on pure instinct and nothing more. If you fear a spider because it embodies everything you should not be while learning my ballet, then I forgive your apprehensions. Otherwise, straighten your neck. Bend your back. Further. Further. Further.’_

_‘They…truly feel nothing?’_

_‘Nothing at all, child. Even as they consume their prey or are crushed alive, not a semblance of emotion passes through their mind.’_

_‘That is utterly despairing…’_  


	4. Mercy

 

 

                The young woman’s presence unnerved her more than she thought it would. The resemblance to the infamous Ana was uncanny. Fareeha seemed far more serious, upon closer inspection, so the differentiating factors were already beginning to separate mother and daughter.

                Angela offered Fareeha a chair, watching the way she moved and acted to get a better read on her character. She was honest to a fault. There was no hiding her emotions or feelings to someone as in tune with the human psyche as Doctor Ziegler. As the seconds passed, Angela could hear the conversation they were about to have before it even began.

                ‘What can I do for you, Fareeha?’ Angela started, her own voice sounding strained. She was tired. She was hungry. She had a headache. The trinity of discomfort that hadn’t left her since her third day in this poor country.

                ‘I…’ Fareeha began, obviously struggling. This actually pleased Angela, for it meant Fareeha was sensitive to her surroundings and the scenario put before her. She wasn’t like most brainwashed soldiers. She still had a mind. ‘I was asked to speak to you about returning…to Overwatch…’

                Again, Angela was impressed. She already liked Fareeha to a degree. Based on what she knew about Ana, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Fareeha carried out her mission, but she did so reluctantly, aware of its futility now.

                ‘May I get you a glass of water? I’m sure your journey was a dry one.’

                ‘…Please.’ Fareeha accepted, maintaining her composure save for the slight way she tugged at her own pant leg ever so subtly.

                Angela handed the other woman her room-temperature beverage and finally seated herself, as if dealing with a patient. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She didn’t have the energy to seem dignified. Angela watched as Fareeha drank, seeing a hint of shyness about the presentably strong individual. A lovely contrast.

                ‘You already know my answer, I presume?’

                Fareeha paused before nodding.

                ‘This country needs me. Many countries need me. Overwatch doesn’t _need_ me. There are far fewer gifted doctors willing to do what I do over joining a team like Overwatch. My involvement here isn’t illegal either. At least, not technically.’

                ‘But…you’re one of a kind. You’re the guardian angel of Overwatch. You saved hundreds because of your Valkyrie Suit and Caduceus Staff. You’re a miracle worker!’

                ‘Well, not always.’ Angela answered soberly, diverting her eyes. ‘I’ve seen enough unnecessary death for many lifetimes. This country has been abandoned by its government. The people are crying for help and yet not a single soul will listen. Innocent children die on the streets daily. I…cannot turn my back on these citizens. It is against my very nature.’

                Angela waited for Fareeha’s rebuttal, but blinked in surprise when it didn’t come.

                ‘I know.’ The Egyptian nodded. ‘I know. But you are beginning to crumble as well, aren’t you? Even with your self-regenerating abilities the toll is showing. Are you sleeping?’

                ‘E-enough…’ Angela was taken aback. She hadn’t read Fareeha perfectly. Perhaps she _was_ tired. She pegged this woman for a stubborn, insistent dreamer, but she zeroed in on Angela’s condition and asked for her own evaluation. As much as Angela longed to provide for the people of Iraq, they only seemed capable of taking. It was understandable, of course, but Angela was human, at the end of the day.

                ‘What about food?’

                ‘They need it more than me. There’s so few resources to begin with, and my nanotechnological enhancements enable me to…’

                ‘So, little if any.’ Fareeha muttered.

                Angela’s eye twitched. This conversation wasn’t what she had projected in her mind.

                ‘Who sent you? Was it Jack?’

                ‘No. Winston.’

                Angela’s heart leapt without her consent. If Winston was willing to rebel against the U.N., the situation must have changed. Angela’s access to the outside world was stuttered in the best-case scenario. What was happening?

                ‘Why now?’

                ‘He says the second Omnic Crisis has already started. He claims Talon is more active than ever. He knows something big is about to take place. He wants to have Overwatch in place before it’s out of control…like the first Omnic Crisis that you helped stop.’

                Angela didn’t answer immediately. Winston was a genius. Certainly, his emotional attachment to Overwatch was a factor, but he would never make such a bold move if he didn’t feel it was absolutely necessary. Yet, Angela Ziegler had come to terms with her place in the world. She had no desire to fight again. She was meant to heal, not hurt. Overwatch forced her to kill; an act that went against everything she stood for and had worked toward. The age-old, philosophical paradox mounted before her: kill the few to save the many? Did that make killing acceptable? 

                ‘But you’re needed here.’ Fareeha interrupted Angela’s thoughts, and the doctor let out air she didn’t know she was holding. ‘My plea is not fair to you. Winston sent me because he may have thought I wouldn’t be sensitive to your position. He’s still getting to know me, I suppose.’

                ‘Perhaps…’ Angela gripped at her hands. ‘I’m sorry you made such a trip. I appreciate knowing what’s taking place in the world, but this country continues to be ravaged, and I’m not leaving this space until the next time it’s necessary to move due to terrorists catching wind of my objective.’

                ‘Affirmative.’ Fareeha nodded, her dark eyes mysterious but committed. ‘I will assist you for the time being. My departure isn’t scheduled until tomorrow.’

                ‘Assist me?’ The surprises wouldn’t cease.

                ‘You need to rest, Doctor Ziegler. I do not have the skills you do, but basic army medical training should suffice for some of the patients to allow you _some_ relief.’

                Angela breathed out slowly, shaking her head. She knew for certain that Fareeha wouldn’t back down from this proposal. She would give her the win here.

                ‘I will accept your offer, then.’ She stood up, moving to Fareeha and extending her hand. ‘Thank-you, Fareeha Amari.’

                ‘No. Thank-you, Doctor Angela Ziegler. You’re a hero to me, and this is an honour more than anything.’

 

***

 

                ‘Her name is Sara. She can speak a little bit of English. Her parents are no longer with us. She’s quite shy, but needs her bandages changed almost every two hours.’

                ‘Hello, Sara.’

                Angela grinned, seeing the way Sara hid her face in her blankets.

                ‘This is Fadhil. He was a soldier.’

                ‘He’s quite young.’

                ‘That doesn’t matter.’ Angela grimaced. The boy was barely older than twelve. ‘He was shot in the eye. I saved him, fortunately. He doesn’t speak. He has some restrained anger, but he fights against it.’

                ‘Fadhil. A brave man.’ Fareeha commented, and Angela almost smiled sadly. Her voice was tight, as was expected. Such an iconic injury for the seemingly stoic Egyptian woman.

                ‘Mohammed. His family was executed before him. He sleeps continuously. His brain has reverted back to that of a child. He needs a lot of love.’

                Fareeha didn’t reply to that. Angela continued to show the newest Overwatch agent her work. Greeting some of her patients kindly, knowing all of their names and understanding their needs immediately. Her memory was incredible. Her bedside mannerisms were perfect. She was stern but kind, capable yet not unwilling to allow her “family” to take care of themselves as need be. Angela wanted Fareeha to see all of this. She wanted her to report the whole truth to Winston now that Fareeha had agreed to stay with her for a bit.

                It took almost an hour for the tour to be done, and eventually, Angela brought Fareeha into another room full of approximately twenty makeshift beds with yellowing sheets. Each bed was occupied, ranging from adults, to children, to men, to women.

                ‘Just ask what they need, and help them feel cared for. That’s all I expect from you.’ Angela turned to an elderly woman, the Iraqi’s eyes lighting up the moment she saw her. ‘Good evening, Ms. Noora. It’s nice to see you.’

                ‘Mercy…’ The woman touched the doctor’s face. ‘Oh, Mercy. So beautiful.’

                ‘You flatter me. How are we feeling today?’

                ‘Mercy…Mercy…’

                ‘Yes. That was my name. I mostly go by Dr. Ziegler now, if you would be so kind.’

                ‘Mercy. So much prettier. So many men would love you.’

                ‘That is certainly not my priority right now, Ms. Noora. _You_ are who I am worried about.’

                ‘Bah. Leave me to die. You must live _for_ me.’

                ‘Now that’s lunacy.’ Angela’s lip quivered. ‘How is your stomach?’

                ‘…Smelly.’

                ‘Truly? After all that work we did?’

                ‘Mercy…I’m sorry.’

                ‘Don’t be, Ms. Noora. It is hardly your fault.’

                ‘I am causing more work for you.’

                ‘I welcome it.’

                ‘Mercy…Mercy…’

                ‘There, there. Here. Drink this medicine while I take a peek at the wound.’

                ‘Sorry. Sorry, Mercy…’

                Angela had seen death more than she could count, and her peers scoffed at her for being infamously emotional in the face of it. Every. Single. Time. The worst part was hiding her fears from her patients. Ms. Noora’s stomach was beyond saving. Her body was too old to adapt to any form of nanotechnology as well. She wouldn’t be able to hold food down at all, soon enough. She would starve to death. Her innards had been ravaged by a bomb. Her organs were on a timer that continued to tick. Her sanity was fading.

                However, Fareeha had to see this. She had to understand the core of Angela’s efforts.

                ‘Who’s that?’ Noora asked, as if reading Angela’s thoughts.

                ‘That is…an acquaintance of mine.’

                ‘Fareeha Amari, Ms. Noora. A pleasure.’

                ‘Huh.’ A beat, Angela wondering if that was all her sometimes-sassy patient would say before a more appropriate follow-up was made. ‘Manly.’

                Fareeha hardly seemed bothered, shrugging indifferently.

                ‘I take that as a compliment in most cases.’

                ‘There, Ms. Noora. How does that feel?’

                ‘Oh, fine. Mercy. Mercy, it always does. But I’m done, right? Have mercy on this old soul.’

                Angela prayed she hid her feelings well enough as she stood to help with some others in the room, noting that her assistants were making their rounds as well.

                ‘Can you handle this, Fareeha?’ She looked up to the woman, noting the hint of masculinity about her as well now that her perceptive patient had made the point.

                ‘I will try. I make no promises. However, so long as you get a moment’s rest, I am willing to do my best.’

                ‘I’m trusting you.’

                ‘Rest, Dr. Ziegler.’

                Angela almost huffed, not appreciating being told what to do in her own hospital, but she knew Fareeha’s curtness belied intense consideration. Angela went to her “room”. That is, what used to be a washroom before the piping was scavenged ages ago. She took off her coat and plopped onto the collection of worn-out pillows on the ground. When was the last occasion she actually slept for more than an hour at a time, sitting up in a chair next to a patient who could pass on if ignored for too long?

                Fareeha was an interesting one, Angela would give her that. If circumstances could’ve been different, perhaps they may have become friends. However, joining Overwatch now was out of the question. And if Fareeha thought she could convince Angela otherwise by forming some kind of bond through the doctor’s work, the girl was delusional.

                Still, Angela had a feeling Fareeha earnestly wished to help, and that in itself gave Angela pause.

                Angela wanted to think about it further, but sleep engulfed her hard and fast, the rest of Dr. Ziegler’s thoughts merged into incomprehensible images and sounds.

 

***

 

                ‘ _Where…?_ ’ Angela asked in her swiss dialect. Her eyes were still heavy, but her mind knew that something was off. She wasn’t allowed to rest for so long. What if someone was lost because of her negligence? Angela scrambled to put her ratty lab coat back on and rubbed her face over and over, regretting her willingness to sleep on the job.

                And yet, it had felt so good. Her energy was recharged, if only a little bit, and her patience, she found, had been appropriately adjusted.

                ‘Where is my guest?’ Angela asked one of her fellow doctors. The man snickered, pointing to the first room Angela had shown Fareeha. When the doctor made it to the doorway, she found Fareeha sitting next to Fadhil, with Sara clearly eavesdropping as best she could.

                ‘…It allows me to fly, to a degree. Its fuel isn’t infinite, so that causes some trouble, but what it _does_ allow me to do is perform jobs very few others could.’

                ‘Hm.’ Fadhil hummed, staring at the Egyptian with his remaining eye.

                ‘Perhaps you could man one someday as well. I’m currently testing the prototype, but when the time comes, they may become standard gear for a very special taskforce.’

                ‘Mmm…’

                ‘Let me change your bandage here.’

                ‘Ugh…’

                ‘No. It is nothing to be ashamed of. You are a strong man. My mother didn’t even survive such a wound, and she was quite famous, I’ll have you know.’

                Angela didn’t want to interrupt. She was enraptured by the interaction. Fareeha was awkward, yes, but her heart was in the right place. Fadhil responded to few very well, yet the young boy was connecting to Fareeha quite readily.

                ‘What was your mother’s name?’ Sara finally chimed in.

                ‘It was…Ana. Ana Amari. She fought with Overwatch. Do you know who they are?’

                ‘Bad people?’ The little girl answered earnestly, and Angela waited in anticipation, her stomach turning. She needed to get back to work, but the hospital felt quiet, and it was getting late. The rounds would be left to Angela soon enough. She could work then.

                ‘Maybe some. But they were mostly heroes who fought for humanity in the first Omnic Crisis, when machines were hurting people.’

                ‘They were sick.’ Sara nodded.

                ‘Yes. They were irreparably sick…’ Fareeha didn’t make the bandage as tight as Angela would have preferred, but her hands worked decently enough. Fadhil seemed pleased as well. ‘This tattoo is in remembrance of my mother. I didn’t always get along with her, but she fought hard, just as you did, Fadhil.’

                ‘…Hero…’ Fadhil muttered, and Angela’s eyes widened, covering her mouth.

                ‘Yes. You could be a hero, too. I know it. Overwatch wasn’t perfect, but they were undoubtedly heroes.’

                ‘Hm.’ Fadhil nodded.

                ‘You’re pretty cool, Fareeha.’ Sara giggled.

                ‘I…I’m not, really. I just admire Overwatch a little too much for my own good, I think.’

                ‘Tell us more about your super suit!’

                ‘Or about fighting the bad guys!’

                ‘Are you going to save us from the robots?’

                ‘Quiet down. Some of us are trying to rest.’

                Angela could feel the tension building, and clapped her hands, entering one of her most needy rooms with a slight skip to her step.

                ‘Now, now, everyone. It is almost time for bed. Let’s thank Fareeha for helping today. She’ll be departing tomorrow…?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Let’s say goodnight for now. Is everyone settled? Does anyone need anything before I go for a bit?’

                ‘The doctors helped ensure everyone was taken care of.’ Fareeha reported.

                Angela led Fareeha down one of the halls to what could be considered her office, if not for the fact it was literally the smallest table and two stools. She offered the woman a seat, the itch to continue making her rounds festering. An emergency could disrupt them at any moment, but for now, Angela felt the need to talk with this individual.

                ‘Your bedside manners are better than I expected.’

                ‘Thank-you. But I did not connect with everyone. One man was particularly disgruntled by my presence. He didn’t speak English, but one of the other doctors translated that he wanted his angel, not some Amazonian warrior.’

                Angela gasped, but then couldn’t help but giggle a little.

                ‘Was that Shad?’

                ‘…Yes. I believe that _was_ his name.’

                ‘I’m so sorry, Fareeha. He’s something of an old…er…charmer.’

                ‘Charmer?’

                ‘Let us just say his hands have been slapped a number of times.’

                ‘…I don’t understand.’

                Angela continued to laugh. When was the last time she sincerely found humour in something? Fareeha was obviously smart and had enough life experience to boot but, at the same time, she was oddly ignorant and innocent at times. It was highly amusing.

                ‘He…ahem…likes to touch inappropriately when given the occasion.’

                Fareeha’s face went red, her dark skin turning a wonderful shade in compensation. It was overly adorable, considering her stature and demeanor.

                ‘He has groped you?’

                ‘On many occasions. A sly devil, that one.’

                ‘You are not bothered by this?’

                Angela giggled again, knowing Fareeha was being exceedingly sincere, as always.

                ‘Honestly, Fareeha, I’m not; not to the extent I could be. He’s an old man. I don’t encourage it, but most of my patients aren’t leaving here anytime soon. If that’s what helps him fight, and if he happens to catch me with my guard down, then so be it.’

                ‘I would not appreciate such a breach.’

                ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Angela was still smiling, eyeing Fareeha with intrigue. ‘But Fadhil seemed to like you. He’s never responded so well to someone before. Perhaps he could sense your similarities.’

                ‘Agreed. He is a good boy, and will make a fine man if taken care of…which I know he will be.’

                ‘Oh? You’re not going to attempt to convince me to return to Overwatch?’

                ‘You already gave me your answer, did you not?’

                ‘Well, yes, but I assumed you weren’t done trying yet.’

                ‘Have you changed your mind?’ Fareeha raised a brow.

                ‘No. You see what I do here. I can’t leave yet.’

                ‘As I thought.’ The larger woman stood. ‘Is there anything left to do? Allow me to help more.’

                ‘Sit for a moment.’ Angela cocked her head. ‘It’s quieter for a spell around this time. I want to speak with you further. I have approximately ten minutes before another batch of rounds need to be made.’

                Fareeha listened slowly, glancing about the place again.

                ‘You are hidden from the battles here?’

                ‘Somewhat. We move periodically, when possible. This sort of establishment is not appreciated by those who would propagate conflict. Unfortunately, the same propagators are the ones in power.’

                ‘Unacceptable.’ Fareeha grunted.

                ‘Agreed. The innocent are the ones who suffer because of a select few and their greed. This country, perhaps, is one of the most devastated by such mentality. I don’t see my work ending here anytime soon.’

                ‘These people adore you.’

                Angela shrugged.

                ‘They seem to appreciate my efforts, at the very least.’

                Fareeha paused, playing with her thumbs in her lap. She was anxious about saying whatever she would next.

                ‘I will give Winston all the details tomorrow. He will understand, I’m sure.’

                ‘…Are you disappointed?’ Angela asked selfishly, for she knew the answer.

                ‘Of course, I am.’ The other woman admitted easily. ‘However, at the same time, I am overjoyed to know that one of the heroes I have always looked up to is perhaps even more admirable of a person than I could have ever hoped.’

                Angela soaked in the compliment, trying not to enjoy it too much.

                ‘You’re a curious individual, Fareeha. I dare say my evaluation of you now is quite contrasting when compared to the one I made during our very first encounter.’

                ‘For the better, I would hope.’

                Angela laughed, standing and preparing to make another set of rounds.

                ‘Certainly, for the better.’


	5. Tracer

 

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘I have to be now, big guy.’

‘I’m sorry. That was a foolish question.’

‘Heheh. Nope. It was a kind one. Your heart is in the right place, as always.’

‘But your uh…your friend is…’

‘Not happy, that’s for sure. But…I just have to help. I can’t pretend something isn’t wrong in this world.’ Tracer looked out the helicopter’s window, seeing the land below draw closer. Her uniform felt a little tight, but it was perfect for the job at hand. She wanted the media to know that Overwatch was back, and they weren’t going to sit idle as Talon spread its shadow as far as it could manage.

Still, Emily’s face kept plaguing her mind, and Tracer’s heart hurt no matter how bubbly she attempted to be. It was one of the hardest decisions she was ever forced to make, but it was one she would live with now.

 

***

 

_‘Hey, um, how goes it, Luv?’_

_‘Whoa. What do you mean “how goes it”? What’s wrong?’_

_She could tell immediately. She had just got in the door and removed her shoes but Emily could still tell something was painfully amiss with her girlfriend._

_‘I’m jus’ askin’ how you’re feeling. Is that so strange? Heheh…’_

_‘Oh, boy.’ Emily was worried. This made Tracer anxious, since she hated seeing the girl anything but content and happy with her. She pushed her hands through her gloriously red hair and strode over to the couch, lazing upon it and sighing after a hard day’s work. ‘Just tell me, Lena. Did you get in another brawl with some omnic haters or something? You know how messy that was last time.’_

_‘No! No, don’t be silly. I’m being a good girl.’_

_‘I somehow doubt that.’_

_Emily extended her arms out, and Tracer felt bad embracing them, but she wanted to, fearing not having another opportunity. It got worse when Emily’s soft lips brushed her girlfriend’s, the two young women exchanging a brief, but intimate kiss._

_‘Mm. Coffee.’ Tracer beamed._

_‘Long day. Couldn’t have done it without the sweet nectar of life.’_

_‘Cheers to that.’_

_‘Oh, how would you know?’_

_‘Eheh…Well, that_ is _kinda the thing…’_

_‘Oh? You got a job that will last this time? No more random “trips”?’_

_‘Um…Somewhat?’_

_‘Lena…’ Emily glared, and Tracer knew there was no going back now. The truth would have to be released. This temporary peace and stability was all too brief and long. Tracer took a deep breath in and shuffled off of Emily, conscious of the way the couch creaked as she did so._

_‘Hear me out, okay? This wasn’t an easy thing, but I just don’t have a choice.’_

_‘Alright. I’m listening. But I don’t like how you’re talking right now. It’s freaking me out.’_

_‘Good sense, Luv.’ Tracer winked, pointing comedically, but returning to the severity of the conversation. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out and we’ll go from there. I’m…I-I’m…’ Lena Oxton grasped reality and physical presence in a different way than most. Chronal disassociation had that effect on some people. Being grounded in the present because of a piece of fragile technology helped, too. Meeting and connecting with Emily was a risk both girls decided to take. Emily wasn’t even aware she could be interested; that’s how strong their initial meeting’s spark was. It hadn’t been that long since they started dating, but Lena knew she was happy. Scared, but happy. Now, was she really willing to put all this in jeopardy? The images Winston had sent was all the convincing she needed. Lena Oxton was a wonderful lover, but she was an even better hero, and not just anyone could do both roles._

_‘I’m…joining Overwatch again.’_

_Emily’s pause was agonizing. She furrowed her brow and shook her head, sighing and sighing some more. Tracer could only wait for her response. Anything more would be spastic and possibly even more damaging._

_‘Join…an organization that has been disbanded and branded criminal? That Overwatch?’_

_‘Eheh. Yep.’_

_‘…Is this a joke?’_

_‘No, Luv. The world is suffering. It never stopped hurting. It’s just…things are getting out of control. You’ve seen the signs, right? Even here, in King’s Row; especially in the old part of the city, there’s so much hate and anger. The first Omnic Crisis left more damage than anyone could expect. Not only that, but Talon is starting to move, and someone has to stop them.’_

_‘Oh, and you’ll stop everything? Just you?’_

_‘Of course not…’_

_‘Then don’t go. They can do it without you.’_

_‘But I’m special. I’m not like most people. I can…travel through time. I can pull stunts off that nobody else can. I can…’_

_‘Disappear forever if the right bullet hits you in the right spot.’ Emily’s face was starting to turn red, and Tracer knew she was getting more upset by the second. ‘You’re right; you_ are _special. You’re special to_ me _! When I started having feelings for you, I thought I was going crazy! I’ve never…never felt this way about another girl. If you return to Overwatch, then…then I’m not sure this can go on. I don’t know if it would be fair…to either of us…’_

_‘I know, Luv…’_

_‘You know, but you still want to go?’_

_‘I don’t “want” to. I “need” to. For you. For everyone in this city. For the world. Overwatch changed the tide of the first war, and with another one coming, I can’t turn a blind eye.’_

_Emily bit at her lower lip, sucking it in. Tracer loved it when she did that, but the Brit couldn’t even enjoy the view. Her chest was in pain, and her pulse was moving faster than she even could._

_‘How long would you be gone?’_

_‘I don’t know.’_

_‘Would I be able to see you?’_

_‘I’m not sure. Maybe?’_

_‘Do you have a choice for how far in the world you’d need to travel?’_

_‘Not really. Depends on the mission.’_

_She was beginning to break finally, tears filling her eyes._

_‘Can you promise you’d come back to me…someday?’_

_‘I can try…’_

_‘But you can’t promise?’_

_Tracer swallowed._

_‘It’s going to be dangerous.’_

_‘I know…’_

_‘Emily…Em. I’m sorry.’_

_‘I know. I know you can’t back away from this. It’s part of the reason I fell for you. You’re earnest, kind, charming, and…and you care so much for other people. You would do anything to help someone in need. If the world’s in need…how can I expect you to choose a single girl over all that?’_

_‘It…doesn’t have to be the end, right?’_

_Emily wiped her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She smiled, yet she was crumbling alongside Tracer._

_‘Oh, Lena. I…God…I think we both know the only answer here…’_

***

 

‘We’re preparing to land. You reviewed the mission data?’ Winston’s gruff but soothing voice asked, forcing Tracer to remove Emily’s pained expression from the forefront of her brain.

‘Yeah. You sure about the intel though? I mean, that’s a pretty amazing network you got goin’.’

‘Fortunately, we’re not the only ones who can’t sit idle while the world is corrupted. Two potentially present Talon members, in particular, were outlined in the briefing. You understand their threat levels?’

‘Yup! Lethal and lethal-er, right?’

‘Um…I suppose that’s accurate enough. Code names: Reaper and Widowmaker. There are some fairly disturbing rumours circulating about both of their true identities, but – ’

‘Winston?’

The enormous ape suddenly perked up, unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to the door, shaking the whole helicopter as he did so.

‘Winston!?’

‘No time. Follow as soon as you can!’

And Winston thrust open the door, leaping out without a second’s hesitation. Tracer panicked for a moment, but then began speaking to their pilot through the headset.

‘Take me down ASAP, Luv! Something’s happening in the museum already!’

“Roger that!”

It was starting. Tracer’s first battle since hanging up her gloves and uniform. Her first official mission as an Overwatch agent anew. She thought of Emily one last time, and then prepared to enter the fray. Doomfist’s gauntlet was the apparent target. If Talon got their hands on that, too much shifted in their favour; it was that powerful of a weapon. Tracer readied her Pulse Pistols, and once the helicopter was within the safe perimeters of a jump for someone of Tracer’s build and abilities, the young woman said a silent prayer, and burst into action, descending into her maiden battle upon rejoining Overwatch.

As soon as Tracer entered the museum, she locked on to a target that matched Widowmaker’s description almost perfectly. The dangerous individual was angling her sniper rifle, with an overly extravagant visor seemingly enhancing her presumably capable skills. Tracer had but a fraction of a second to take everything in, and while Winston was handling who must have been Reaper, Tracer blinked into Widowmaker’s range, getting so close she could smell the other woman’s almost metallic scent.

‘Psst. What you lookin’ at?’

Her reaction speed was inhuman. Even with another blink, Tracer barely evaded Widowmaker’s counterattack, her gun shifting into the fully automatic mode that the mission’s briefing had mentioned. Tracer dashed midair, both evading and attacking at the same time. All the information provided through Winston’s intel was spot on. These Talon members were a cut above, just like the main attack force within Overwatch. Tracer could only spray and pray, maneuvering herself behind some cover before Winston took over, their ability to work off one another mid-combat hardly missing a beat.

Winston endured some heat from both adversaries now, roaring bravely all the while as Tracer screamed to him, knowing he would react in kind. His enormous hand reached out and Tracer blinked into it, allowing herself to be hurled into the middle of the fight, spinning and dashing about, stretching her arms out wide as she attempted to subdue both Reaper and Widowmaker. Accuracy wasn’t the primary concern; staying alive and hoping for a lucky shot was. Constant movement. Ever cautious of what these enemies were capable of. Tracer’s mind was a flurry, not having time to comprehend her circumstances precisely, and being forced to run on autopilot.

Reaper’s movements suddenly shifted, and both Tracer and Winston could tell, instinctively, something was coming. The cloaked man began chuckling maniacally as a swarm of darkness peeled off of his cape and encircled his entire being. When even Widowmaker took cover, Tracer knew it was time to bail, but Reaper’s following attack happened so erratically that the time warrior could barely register what was going on.

An outbreak of bullets exploded from Reaper’s location, an impossibly fast shower of death blossoming from a singular location. Tracer had no other choice but to seek shelter again, her chronal accelerator needing time to recharge before she worked it into the ground some more. She reloaded her pistols and breathed heavily, forcing blips of Emily from her already strained brain. Winston was charging Reaper by the sounds of things, but it was when Tracer noted another sound nearby that she finally looked down to see two young boys staring up at her in bewilderment. They were caught in a bad situation and most certainly scared, she would imagine.

How did Tracer deal with fear every time she fought?

‘Um. Don’t worry, luvs, the cavalry’s here!’

Joy. Humour. Giggling. Running from fear. Taunting fear. Laughing at fear. Only a few more seconds and she would show these boys what Overwatch was all about. The younger of the two was ecstatic by Tracer’s words, while the older one looked far more aware of the danger they were all currently in, especially with Winston finally collapsing, taking too many bullets to not have one hit one of his vulnerable points in his armour. His glasses skid across the floor as if signifying his fall.

Tracer bit down, knowing she was almost ready to rejoin her friend in their struggle. Just a few more seconds. This was a pivotal moment in the fight.

‘Come on, big guy, get up.’ Tracer begged. She couldn’t do it on her own. She could barely do it with Winston. These Talon agents were brutally lethal. If Widowmaker had a moment, Tracer was sure her sniper rifle could end things frightfully fast.

Fortunately, Reaper made the mistake of approaching Winston and not taking him out with the small opportunity he had. Taunting the gorilla by stepping on Winston’s glasses, Reaper barely had time to react as Winston’s Primal Rage took over, his whole composition flashing red and a berserker of a warrior crashing through any composure he once held.

Tracer’s chronal accelerator beeped, and she exhaled sharply, a smile unavoidable.

‘Yeah!’ She screamed in delight, joining her companion in a last-ditch effort to immobilize Reaper. With Winston at her side, they easily secured the upper hand, although Tracer had to be aware of Widow’s support fire from her blind spots. Winston finally managed to capture Reaper, and just as he was about to create a crater with Reaper as his tool of choice, the mysterious, black-robed figure seemingly transformed into the shadows that followed him, and Tracer knew he was gone for now. She turned back to Widow only to be forced into covering her eyes, a large eruption of power exploding from where the gauntlet had been encased.

Widow’s form tumbled through the museum, and Tracer seized the chance, Winston following suit. Widow was the cornered one now, and Tracer had to admire her tenacity, the mystifyingly gorgeous woman not giving an inch until Tracer blinked behind her, kicking the sniper’s gun from her hand and using it against the Talon member without mercy. Widow continued to impress, deflecting lethal bullets with her gauntlet prior to firing a grappling hook off and taking a suddenly manifested Reaper with her up and out of the museum. Grenades were dropped, deterring immediate pursuit, but Winston leapt high and out after Talon within only three jumps.

Tracer almost pursued immediately, but part of her hesitated, turning to her little comrades-in-arms and grinning proudly after putting the pieces together in her head and seeing Doomfist’s gauntlet crackling, damaged in the arms of the older brother. Both boys stared up at Tracer in awe, her heart soaring with joy due to their expressions. The big brother sheepishly handed Tracer the artefact they all had fought hard to protect.

Tracer felt the weight of the weapon, and noted how small the hands were that passed it to her. She sighed inwardly, thinking of Emily and knowing this was the right decision. What if she and Winston hadn’t come? What would have happened to these boys? What if Doomfist’s gauntlet had fallen into Talon’s hands once more? She admired the bravery put on display this day, and she was reminded of her youth in a wave of painful nostalgia.

‘You know?’ She started, staring at the boys with all her sincerity. ‘The world could always use more heroes.’

A wink and a giggle, and Tracer was off after placing the weapon back where it belonged, flying through the air to finish a mission she had no doubts about anymore. 


	7. Widowmaker

                It was finally time.

                She couldn’t wait a second longer.

                The noise from a crowd of peacemakers only served to solidify the moment Widowmaker sought. She was high on the roofs of King’s Row, looking down upon her canvas. The mission’s details were engraved in her memory. The setting was precisely as it should be. A night sky, illuminated by thousands of lights that dulled even the brightest star. King’s Row was serving as the gathering place for Tekhartha Mondatta’s speech. He would vie for equal relations between omnics and humans. He would make his plea. It would be the epitome of foolhardiness.

                If Widow barely felt anything, how could mere machines?

                It ultimately didn’t concern her. All that mattered was the kill. Her heart had been slowed artificially, but even now it showed signs of elation. Nothing compared to the anticipation; nothing but the moment Widow knew her target was dead with a single, perfect shot.

                This speech was important. It would shape the future of humanity’s interactions with omnics for years to come. Thus, Talon had to stop it, for the human race would never become stronger through love. Conflict is what promoted evolution. It was the ideal process.

                But Widowmaker truly didn’t care. She located a single guard. He was stationed quite far from the target’s location. They were being cautious. Admirable, but ultimately pointless.

                Widowmaker exhaled shakily, full of anticipation, and began, springing from her location and leaving little for the guard to contemplate prior to his consciousness being reduced to darkness. Widow completely overwhelmed him in only a couple of well-placed hits. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking it all in with a pause atop her playground. She would spin her web about all of these buildings, drawing her prey and consuming them with little more than a blinking thought.

                As Widowmaker moved into position, the crowd’s low hum rose in support, Mondatta’s speech beginning.

                “Human. Machine. We are all one within the Iris.”

                The cheering exploded in delight, and Widow could only roll her eyes. Simpletons. If that’s all it took to raise their spirits, they were hollower than Widowmaker herself. At least she had a brain. She could think for herself…

                Something stabbed at her temple, and Widowmaker winced, spotting another guard. She shot her grappling hook straight across his face, taking the split second the man was caught off guard to back hand him into delirium, choke him to the ground, and knock him totally out cold with the butt of her sniper rifle.

                A shiver. She was only getting started. Widowmaker allowed a smirk, moving methodically and reflecting her namesake further with the way she entangled her slender, flawlessly shaped leg with her hook’s wire. Another breath, delaying the end of this wonderful event, and she descended, sliding lower in between two buildings upside down. She clicked her multi-faceted visor into place, her gun morphing into its advanced settings to provide the optimal line of sight and aim. Her breathing practically stopped, as she was groomed to do in this moment, and Widow adjusted her shot, Mondatta’s head between her crosshairs with less than a 1% chance of error.

                This was it.

                It was too easy.

                She didn’t want it to be over already.

                When would her next mission be? How long would she wait in her quarters? Why was her temple still throbbing? The future meant nothing to Widow, yet it remained a point of reference as her feelings swelled in desire of this kill.

                He wouldn’t even know what hit him. Foolish omnic. Pretending to _feel_ something. Playing at _living_.

                Widow’s top left eye in her visor began blinking, and when the multi-visual monitors opened, a blur of light passed through each of the windows within seconds. She would delay the climax after all. Was it a blessing or a curse?

                The Tracer girl appeared again. It was just like last time. The mission was almost complete, and she showed up precisely in the nick of time. Widow changed gears without missing a beat, springing off the wall and navigating the air with pristine elegance, firing off her gun in assault mode as both she and Tracer danced midair, truly exemplifying their inhuman abilities as first-rate fighters from their respective organizations.

                Widowmaker’s heart soared alongside her body, and she crashed through a window, regaining a visual of her attacker before the girl appeared, smiling like the imbecile she was and spouting off more drivel.

                ‘Trying to crash another party, Luv? Hah!’

                Her eyes. Her eyes were so bright Widow almost had to squint. Her expression was full of life. Her lips moved with such joy despite the circumstances. This girl…irritated Widow. It was an emotion she barely even understood anymore, but ever since the museum incident, this Overwatch agent was difficult to forget. She was happy. Something more than the kill drove her, and Widow couldn’t comprehend it whatsoever. The irritation was growing. It was festering. It made Widow’s temple pulsate more distractingly.

                The fight initiated once again, and Widow attempted to harvest her soul’s desire to _feel_ something as she grappled up and through the building she had infiltrated, spinning as her hook pulled her toward the ceiling and firing erratically, not truly aiming, but simply swatting at the fly that would defy her mentally. Tracer was extraordinarily fast. The documents Widow had reviewed following the museum mission’s failure outlined the girl’s ability to manipulate time. She was a difficult opponent…which would only make the kill all the more gratifying.

                Widow made it to the roofs of the old city in King’s Row, and once Tracer reappeared, she entrapped her in a volley of shots. Again, Widow didn’t bother to aim precisely. This was too enjoyable. Mondatta could wait. The mission could wait. This life and death struggle? It’s all Widowmaker had anymore.

                It was time to play with dinner. Could Tracer keep up?

                Widow continued her barrage of bullets, backing up to the edge of the roof. She leapt, feeling the air rushing through her hair and skin. The city was now her home. It was her web. She grappled high, releasing the latch to capture the momentum building as she was thrust upward, spinning in the air and crushing another guard’s face as she landed upon the next building.

                _This was it…_

                His partner had more of a chance, but even while firing away like the pathetic fool he was, Widow easily slid beneath him, swipe-kicking his legs from under him and proceeding into a low dash away from the anticipated rounds of fire that followed.

                _Ah. Yes. This was what she wanted…_

                Widow bounded across scarce pieces of infrastructure, her elegance and precision uncanny and impossible to hit lest these mere grunts had much more than an average man’s aiming capability.

                They did not.

                Again, she was in the air, knees practically next to her ears as she caught sight of the man beneath her. Widow wanted to photograph this moment with her mind. His mouth was slightly agape. His eyes confused and in a near-panic. He knew his face was about to be crushed under Widow’s heels. She wouldn’t disappoint.

                Widow felt the crunch of his head between her feet and the ground, but he had partners, and thus, she could revel in it no more. Her acrobatic skill was put on display for the friends, both of which were easily shot down. The final individual wasn’t hit in a terribly vital spot, however, but that just meant Widow had the excuse she needed to kick him completely out cold, the crunch from his neck snapping as she punted him sending a chill through the woman’s spine. Three more shots to close down any pursuers, and Widow turned, her visor snapping back down into place only to find her target on the move.

                _Perfect. Perfect. It couldn’t be more perfect. A challenge. She could feel it…_

                Widow turned and felt her lips twitch. _She_ was back. Let the game go on. Time for round two, and Widow, unfortunately, didn’t have much more time to play around. She leapt from building to building, knowing Tracer was beyond any of the men Widow had taken out with such extreme ease. As she rolled upon landing a particularly long jump, Widow released a venom mine from her gauntlet, wondering how her little fly would deal with her lungs being filled with such toxic matter courtesy of Talon’s personal genius doctor.

                Tracer didn’t even see it coming. As she passed by Widow’s trap, she was instantly coughing and stumbling, tumbling to the ground while attempting to hack out the foreign matter that had forced its way into her precious little body. Widow could have turned and ended Mondatta right then and there, but she paused, feeling something akin to melancholy at the thought of her game being over.

                _More. She needed more…_

                Widow stalked over to Tracer, placing her foot upon her shoulder and readying her rifle right next to the girl’s face. The irritation returned. Her temple snapped. Her eye twitched. If Tracer was capable of what Widow had read, then it was time to tempt fate.

                ‘Such a sweet, foolish girl.’ Widow heard her own accented voice comment, leering down upon the same girl and wondering if this truly was all she had to offer. But in another second, Tracer’s body glowed a pale blue and she disappeared, reappearing midair and firing at Widow with that ridiculous smile and peppy tone.

                ‘What’s that?’

                Widow had to admit, the scope of her opponent’s unique power was impressive, and it made her mind hesitate for too long. She evaded Tracer’s shots easily enough, but the younger girl proved not to be a complete imbecile, her bullets hitting a gas pipe that obscured Widow’s vision temporarily.

                _Good. Struggle. It was what she desired._

Widow heard Tracer grunt, and although her vision was still compromised, she caught sight of a beeping projectile just in time to shoot it a couple of metres before it could’ve ended her right then and there. It was the first shot Widow made the whole night that she actually took aim and used her godly skills to perform as needed. Her heart skipped, and her eyes widened in delight. The explosion knocked Tracer back and over the side of the building.

                _This was it!_

                Widow followed after her opponent, falling in the air with her sniper rifle shouldered and naked eyes performing all the work she needed to land this next shot. She couldn’t have planned it better if she had tried. Tracer wasn’t smiling anymore. She wasn’t giggling anymore. Her comedic eyes understood her predicament too well. Widow didn’t miss when she put her mind to it. At this range, there wasn’t a single percentile chance of error. The shining, pale blue orb on the girl’s chest was the main source of her power and life, from what Talon conjectured. If Widow aimed for that, it was checkmate.

                _But she could dodge this, couldn’t she?_

                Widow clenched her finger down and felt the orgasmic sensation of her conclusive bullet being ejected from her. As predicted, Tracer evaded, reversing time yet again and opening the space up for Widow’s bullet to fly straight into the crowd. _She_ wanted to slow time, if she could. Every time, she wanted to stop the sand from slipping through her unfeeling hands.

                The bullet pierced through the air, splitting the space it occupied, and less than a second later, Mondatta’s head snapped back and he flew to the ground, the lights upon his forehead flashing for but a moment prior to his charade of an existence ending.

                Widow landed, her legs modified to absorb such intense impact, and she was gifted with yet another sight: Tracer flashing about in utter confusion, feeling her body frantically as if in disbelief that Widow had actually missed.

                But Widow hadn’t missed. The second shot she truly wished to make of the night was the last.

                ‘Looks like the “party” is over.’ Widow smirked, referencing the child’s quip from earlier. The vision of Tracer putting the pieces together was too much. Chills ran Widow’s body, and she knew she had made the right decision in releasing her fly from the web.

                ‘No…’ Tracer breathed, leaping to the edge of the building and taking it all in. ‘No…! No, no, no, no!’

                _Oh. It was almost too much…_

She wasn’t even close to giggling now. They were beginning to reflect one another just a little better. Tracer was furious, and Widow embraced her fury, allowing her to tackle her to the ground, grappling with her as they slid across the building, bodies entangled and souls dancing to a very different tune. Widow simply stared as the little girl slammed her into the ground, her head hanging over the roof. She hadn’t even noticed Widow had latched her hook onto the side of the building during their scuffle.

                _Yes. Yes. Yes…_

‘Why!?’ Tracer screamed, and something pinched Widow’s brain. Tracer’s eyes were filling with water. This was a new form of irritation. Crying? How did one cry exactly?

                ‘Why would you do this?’

                Raw emotion. True emotion. Pain. Fear. Sadness. Despair. Anger. Frustration. Regret.

                Widow didn’t know how to respond. She felt nothing yet something. What was she feeling? The kill? No. But all she could do was laugh. She didn’t know why. She didn’t understand it one bit. She just chuckled, staring into Tracer’s destroyed visage and registering a memory that made her laugh in discomfort. Her brow curled unnaturally, and she felt panic for a split in her timeline.

                Lights flashed behind the two women, and Widowmaker’s mind clicked back into place from its delusionary lapse. Talon would kill Tracer. Widow’s ride was here, and the Overwatch agent was directly in its line of fire. Without a moment to reconsider, Widow pulled Tracer’s face so close to hers she could smell her sweat, and spoke two words in her mother language that meant so much more than she could fathom.

                ‘Adieu, Cherie.’

                Widow pulled Tracer back off of the roof, flying through the air once again, and slammed the girl into the side of the building, using her previously latched grappling hook to leave her opponent where she lay. Widow returned to the building’s top, reclaimed her gun, and boarded the Talon airship. As the doors closed over her piercing, yellow eyes, Widowmaker stilled her slowed heart.

                _It was over…_

_The notion of life was as brief as ever…_

_But her little fly guaranteed another dance worth living for…_

_Worth feeling alive for…_


	8. Mercy

                The human psyche had a curious way of dealing with trauma. Only when the immediate danger had passed did the mind take a moment to gather itself and comprehend precisely what had come to occur. Angela Ziegler was more than aware of the letdown that would threaten to ruin her. She felt it more than most. She had to work twice as hard as anyone to not let it consume her.

                Helicopters were somewhat primitive at this point in human history, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be some solace found in how noisy the method of transportation was. They were more difficult to track as well, perhaps the primary reason for Winston opting to use the loud piece of machinery.

                Angela tried to focus on the sounds all around her, closing her eyes and leaning back in the chair as if to give in to her exhaustion. Fareeha was a good woman, and she had tried saying little things to Angela since they boarded, but the doctor couldn’t respond adequately. Her mind was cracking, and it was taking every distraction she could focus on in solitude to prevent her from screaming.

                She was going back to Overwatch. Talon had given her no choice. No matter where she went now, they would eventually find her and hurt everyone around her without a second thought. It wasn’t a difficult formula. There were only two options, and Angela wasn’t ready to humour the second. Her abilities and scientific discoveries were too valuable not to target. She had changed the tide of battle so frequently during the first Omnic Crisis that she was surprised Talon hadn’t targeted her earlier. Perhaps they were simply biding their time. If Talon was a patient enemy, Overwatch had their work cut out for them.

                Angela grimaced, subduing the urge to be overly obvious with her internal struggle.

                She didn’t want to rejoin Overwatch. She didn’t want to become a criminal. What good could she do behind bars if they were found out? Overwatch’s disbandment was ugly, to say the very least. Blackwatch’s cancerous involvement couldn’t have been completely removed so easily. Although Angela agreed with Overwatch fundamentally, she feared history would repeat itself, and that would be mortifying.

                As mortifying as accepting the fact all those patients had been slaughtered because of her presence and nothing else?

                Angela’s eyes squinted shut, and she felt Fareeha’s hand tentatively touch her shoulder. It was really too loud to converse comfortably, and the headsets made it so that the pilots would hear anything said as well, so the exchange was kept quiet, with a sympathetic expression being the only mode of communication Fareeha managed. Angela appreciated the gesture, but she didn’t want to think about it.

                “We’ll be landing in Ilios to change our ride and take a breather. This bird might be hot, and we can’t take any risks. Still a couple of hours to go, but just wanted to let you both know.”

                Ilios. That was in Greece. Overwatch Gibraltar must’ve been the station they were going to. That made sense if Winston was the instigator for all of this.

                Angela insisted on keeping her eyes closed, and although it didn’t feel as though she was sleeping soundly, she must’ve been fading in and out of consciousness, for the helicopter blades soon slowed to a halt, the notion of elevation dissipating and the sky already having turned to night. Angela’s breath felt sour, and that was the true indicator that rest had found her somehow.

                ‘We’ve landed.’ Fareeha said quite seriously, unbuckling herself and removing the headset. ‘Do you need assistance, Dr. Ziegler?’

                ‘Taking off a seat belt and headpiece? I think I’ll manage.’ Angela jested, but Fareeha seemed confused.

                The door to the helicopter snapped open, and the two pilots greeted their guests.

                ‘Winston reserved a small room at a hotel nearby for the two of you. Our new flight will be departing tomorrow at dawn so that we can make it to the base by about midday. We’re going to be performing a circle check of this ride before handing it over to the necessary powers that be for disposal. Make sure you don’t forget anything.’

                ‘Where will you two be sleeping?’ Fareeha asked for Angela, since the doctor was curious as well.

                ‘Oh, we have a room, too. Don’t worry about us. There are a few good places to drink around here, so, we’ll be enjoying some of Greece’s finest for a bit. Shouldn’t pass up the chance, right? This area is fairly peaceful, so it’s best to soak it in.’ The slightly more talkative of the two men tapped at his phone, causing Fareeha’s own to beep at the reception of information.

                ‘There. The coordinates of your arrangements are in that message. I kept it somewhat cryptic just in case. Can’t be too careful, right?’

 

***

 

                Checking in to the hotel felt wrong. It was a beautiful facility, perfect for the destination and vacationers alike. The pearl whites and smooth architecture gleamed with professional, authentic care. A person could only feel like one of the wealthy daring to stay in such a place. Gorgeous plants perfectly arranged about, expensive paintings with perhaps even more valuable frames, a shining, mirror-like floor.

                ‘I suppose this is the place.’ Fareeha said quietly, not seeming overly taken aback by its design. She took the lead without hesitation, approaching the front desk with her single, not terribly large suitcase in tow. Angela heard her speaking to the front receptionist, but their words floated through her mind like the wind. She couldn’t grasp any of it without effort; effort she didn’t feel inclined to put forth.

                This felt wrong.

                Why was she staying at a premium hotel in Greece while her patients’ bodies lay strewn about back in Iraq? It made the woman sick. It always did. Logistically, she knew staying alive meant helping more people, but with Talon murdering so easily, how many could she save in contrast to the terrorist’s vicious ambitions? She was outnumbered. Those who wanted to harm, and those who wanted to help; the scales were ever tipped.

                ‘Hey.’ Fareeha’s face was close, her scent sweaty.

                ‘Yes?’

                ‘I have our room keys. Here’s yours.’ The taller woman handed Angela a card, and continued to lead the way. She was somewhat curt; rather different from Ana and her sarcastic, charismatic persona. There was something almost masculine about her, truthfully, despite her obvious feminine build and smooth, bronze skin.

                Angela followed, feeling like she was dragging her feet that weighed double what they should. She was a wreck. She had seen war and death during the first Omnic Crisis, but nothing so personal and morally antagonistic. Omnics gone berserk were one thing. Witnessing a small army of humans slaughtering helpless souls young and old was another. She was expected to be strong, but the act was sinking the doctor into a familiar, terrifying abyss she had no desire revisiting.

                ‘Here.’ Fareeha swiped the card and opened the door for Angela, waiting until she made her way in before proceeding herself, flicking on a fancy lamp and sighing outwardly.

                ‘Thank-you.’ Angela forced herself to say. She found one of the two beds and sat upon it. It was more comfort than she had experienced in weeks; perhaps even months. The mattress formed around her backside, sinking yet supporting in the perfect way.

                ‘Would you like to take a shower?’ Fareeha asked, pulling at the curtain and looking outside.

                ‘I’m fine…’

                A beat, and then the Egyptian insisted.

                ‘I recommend it.’

                ‘Do I smell foul?’ Angela asked, pushing the pitch at humour for herself more than anything.

                ‘N-not terribly.’ Fareeha stumbled, her skin tone shifting around her cheeks. ‘It’s just, I always find such a cleansing to be beneficial when I am troubled or upset.’

                Angela thought about it, and had to agree that the luxury of a hot shower would be quite pleasant. It still felt wrong, but guilt could only weigh the experienced doctor down for so long. She needed to stand. She needed to steel herself. She needed to avenge in the way she knew she could; not sulk forever. This pain in her chest and heart wouldn’t go away, just as all the other scars couldn’t, but she also couldn’t stop living altogether. It’s why she modified her own body, wasn’t it?

                ‘I will take your advice, Fareeha. Thank-you.’ Angela stood, still a sense of disconnect from her body disorienting her, and she made it to the washroom, closing the door softly and being startled by her reflection in the mirror. The nanomachines within kept her jarringly youthful, but even those couldn’t hide how hollow her cheeks appeared. Discarding her clothes only provided more evidence that Angela had seriously neglected herself during her stay in Iraq. How hadn’t she noticed before now? Her ribs were grossly prevalent, and her breasts had shrunk notably. Her hips stuck out, and her thighs lacked muscle. It didn’t bother Angela Ziegler aesthetically, for she wasn’t vain to begin with, but she _did_ care when her body wasn’t being properly cared for, and the nanomachines could only do so much.

                It took Angela a moment to start up the shower, but it was simple enough to figure out. Soon, hot water was pouring over her naked form effortlessly. She didn’t have to pray the pipes were still working. She didn’t have to endure a chill the entire time. Soap, shampoo, and a sponge were all laid out for her. Angela simply stood, however, head tilted back just slightly, and allowed the heat to sprinkle about her. She closed her eyes and tasted some of the fluid ricocheting this way and that, her lips slightly parted.

                Her cheeks were soon lined with a very different kind of water, and her mouth clenched, her chest convulsing and hands gripping at her heart. She felt the floor upon her knees, and the water trailed over her nose, dripping down and joining its brethren. She sobbed lightly, sniffing and shaking with despair and anger.

                Talon. A new and terrible enemy. Unlike the omnics, they knew exactly what they were doing, and the rage filled Angela the more she fathomed how low her fellow humans could go. Crying would solve nothing, but Angela understood the act’s value as an emotional relief mechanism as well, and thus, she allowed her feelings to overwhelm her rather than restrain them further.

                She was thankful that the washroom’s fan and the raining water itself drowned out her sorrow.

 

***

 

                Angela stepped out of the shower after the pruning of her fingers just started to take place. She wrung out her blonde hair and wiped her face down with the towel available. However, when it came time to change, the slightly calmer doctor realized she was without clothes. Indeed, she hadn’t had the opportunity to bring anything with her whatsoever. Putting on her outfit from her stay in Iraq was out of the question now. If she did, she may not have bothered with a shower in the first place.

                Surely the housekeeping staff had _something_ she could change into for the time being. But what about the following day? What would she wear to Overwatch’s H.Q. in Gibraltar?

                Angela wrapped a towel around her slender body and exited the steamy washroom, finding Fareeha on her phone and looking somewhat intense…although that wasn’t completely extraordinary.

                ‘Did you want to speak with her? She’s here.’ Fareeha cut herself off, nodding to Angela. ‘Do you mind?’

                ‘Not at all.’ Angela held out her hand, taking Fareeha’s phone and trying to smile. She noticed the younger woman’s eyes avoiding her, as if she may be embarrassed by Angela’s lack of clothing beyond the towel. A funny girl, this one.

                ‘Winston, I presume?’

                “Uh…yes.”

                ‘Why do you sound sheepish?’

                “Ahem. Ms. Amari told me what happened. You…have my condolences.”

                Angela breathed out, her body’s spasm at the recollection powerful against all her efforts.

                ‘I do not agree with fighting hate with violence, but I have seen with my own eyes what form of evil Talon embodies, and I do not wish to ignore the terror they wish to spread.’

                “So, you will join Overwatch again?”

                ‘I do not have a choice, Winston.’

                “You do. If you simply need a safe place for the time being, I will assure a necessary haven is reserved for you here. You do not have to fight.”

                ‘Heheh. That’s very kind, but you say that knowing what my answer will be, so the offer becomes somewhat null, wouldn’t you agree?’

                “…The world needs us, Angela.”

                The sincerity in her old friend’s voice was enough to send goosebumps over Angela’s bare skin. She bit at her lip, but then nodded slowly.

                ‘Yes. It needs a hero…’

                “Overwatch is that hero. With new recruits, like Fareeha, we can save humanity from Talon. I’m working on Jack, Reinhardt, and others. It won’t be like last time.”

                ‘You can’t make that promise, Winston.’

                “But…”

                ‘The moment you include humans in any equation, you do not have a stable formula. The variables are ever changing. You know this.’

                “I…I suppose you might be right…”

                ‘But yes. We have learned some things since the last war. We will adjust our actions accordingly.’

                “Precisely!”

                Angela felt a tug at the corner of her mouth. His honesty was truly enlightening. It was refreshing. It’s what she needed.

                ‘I’ll speak with you further tomorrow, Winston.’

                “Good! Good! Oh, and before you go, what do you think of Fareeha? Will she be a fit for our team?”

                Angela glanced down to the daughter of Ana Amari; the legendary sniper. Fareeha’s clear eyes looked back. She had resolve, that was without a doubt.

                ‘I think she will be a perfect candidate for the revived Overwatch team, yes.’

                Fareeha clearly attempted to withhold a broad smile from spreading across her face, but she failed mostly, looking all the more adorable because of the breakdown.

                “Thank-you. Thank-you, Angela.”

                ‘Goodnight, Winston.’

                Angela managed to click the call off and handed the phone back to Fareeha, who held the device tenderly.

                ‘Um…Do you feel a bit better?’

                ‘Yes. I appreciate you asking. I have managed to bury my feelings for now. I suppose it’s best I become used to doing that again.’

                ‘Oh…’

                ‘Hm? You do not agree with my method?’ Angela challenged, wondering a bit about her roommate.

                ‘If I might be frank,’ Fareeha spoke just slightly lower. ‘It does not seem healthy.’

                This impressed Angela.

                ‘You’re right, of course. But it’s a survival mechanism for the time being.’

                A beat, Fareeha fidgeting with her phone absentmindedly. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again.

                ‘If…if you ever need to vent, Dr. Ziegler, I think I can be a good listener.’

                ‘Truly?’ Angela raised a brow, amused and bewildered at once.

                ‘I’ve been told as much, anyway…’

                ‘I do not doubt it.’ Angela smirked. ‘You choose your words carefully, in most cases, and are very considerate toward others. I don’t dislike such traits.’

                Fareeha didn’t respond, but she was obviously content with the praise.

                ‘Perhaps I might take advantage of your offer now, then?’

                ‘O-of course!’

                Angela stretched her arms out, scanning her own body.

                ‘I am currently in a precarious position as far as my clothes are concerned. Can you provide some advice?’

                ‘Oh!’ Fareeha almost fell backward, immediately going to her suitcase and rummaging through her clothes, extracting a black t-shirt and pair of red shorts, since the weather was somewhat toasty. ‘Would this do?’

                Angela held up the plain shirt and shorts. They weren’t exactly her style, but due to Fareeha’s size, they would most assuredly fit.

                ‘My thanks.’ Angela shrugged before proceeding to the washroom and changing with some haste. She didn’t want to be alone, apparently, for her thoughts frightened the doctor. Despite what she said, her feelings wouldn’t remain confined in her distant psyche. Angela returned to Fareeha, the shirt quite large over her frame, the already wide collar slipping off her right shoulder, while the shorts struggled to stay just barely on the doctor’s hips.

                ‘I must look like a fine piece of work.’ Angela self-deprecated intentionally, feeling some warmth on her cheeks as Fareeha blinked in seeming interest curiously.

                ‘Er…We might have time to purchase some clothes for you tomorrow before departure.’ The younger women offered.

                ‘That would be ideal.’

                ‘But…You are still every bit the angel I viewed upon our first encounter, Dr. Ziegler, if you do not mind me saying.’

                Angela thought it was a joke, at first, but Fareeha’s gaze made it clear she was very serious, as was to be expected. This made the doctor’s pulse jump, and then she giggled shyly.

                ‘An overstatement if ever there was one, but that was a rather smooth line. If you were a man, I might be in trouble, no?’

                ‘I-I meant nothing flirtatious! I just…do not want you to feel bad about yourself, Dr. Ziegler.’

                ‘Then contribute to my comfort by calling me Angela, if you would not mind. You did it before once, and I did not mind the familial notion of your seeming slipup.’

                ‘…It does not seem proper.’

                ‘I don’t care for such formalities. I am just as human as you.’

                ‘A human who has saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives.’

                ‘Directly, somewhat, but you have done similar acts of heroism in the Egyptian army, correct?’

                ‘I don’t think they are quite comparable.’

                ‘Well,’ Angela sighed. ‘Before this conversation becomes even more cyclical, let us just agree that you call me by my first name and leave it at that.’ Her tone got the message across, and Fareeha eventually nodded.

                ‘I will do that…Angela.’

                ‘There. Not so difficult, is it?’

                ‘I just…have always looked up to Overwatch. By association, I’ve always admired _you_ and the other heroes that truly made a name for themselves during the first Omnic Crisis. I mean, you can self-regenerate! How amazing is that? I dreamed of joining the fight, and just as I was almost able to apply, the disbandment took place, and my future didn’t look quite so certain.’

                ‘I see.’ Angela took a seat on the opposite be. ‘That was poor timing. Overwatch could have used more individuals like yourself, I believe.’

                ‘I hope I can help now, at the very least.’

                ‘You will. You pilot the prototype Raptora Mark VI, correct?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Such a powerful weapon in the hands of a level-headed woman like yourself? I have faith it will assist us all.’

                ‘I will do my absolute best not to let you down, Dr. Zieg – er, Angela.’

                Angela smiled. She had a feeling she would like Fareeha based on their first serious conversation, but these new interactions only confirmed her theory.

                ‘So, I would suspect a shower might be a pleasant idea for yourself as well, yes? We best go to bed sooner rather than later, for I predict a busy day tomorrow.’

                ‘Agreed. I will do just that. Call for me if you need anything at all, Angela.’

                ‘I will, Fareeha.’

                Angela observed Fareeha subconsciously as the other woman withdrew some more clothes from her luggage. She was so very tall, for a woman, and moved about in a rather virile way, lacking the idealized “grace” expected of their sex in most cases. Angela suspected the army had that effect on a girl, but it wasn’t without its charm when paired with the Egyptian’s naturally attractive visage. Her raven-black hair and tanned, smooth skin were aesthetically pleasing, and her build was athletic, but not without the curves a man would find irresistible. She hadn’t mentioned a partner of any kind, but Angela wondered, for but a second, if this honest individual couldn’t have a boyfriend somewhere in the world. She seemed focused on work and bettering herself, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that she _was_ single, which seemed like something of a waste.

                Not that Angela could talk, if she were to allow some slight vanity and confidence into her thoughts.

                The doctor fell back onto the bed, putting her arm over her eyes and allowing her mind to follow such a train of consideration to allow for a viable distraction. She had been on a few dates herself, but absolutely none were worth a second outing. She could tell within the first few minutes if there was compatibility or not and, unfortunately, the conclusion was generally the latter. Jack had called Angela “picky” at one point, while Gabriel was quicker to claim she was “stuck up”. “Not desperate” was what Angela had countered with, and that seemed to shut both men up quite hastily.

                It was the truth. Perhaps it’s why Angela found herself connecting with Fareeha so easily. They had goals, dreams, and aspirations beyond attracting the attention of the opposite sex. It was a fun game to play, on occasion, but hardly the primary focus of either girls’ life. Angela derived much more fulfillment out of helping others and developing new ways to heal the sick. Flirting, dating, and all the complications that such concepts brought with them could be occupied by others. Angela had better ways to spend her time, in her mind. At thirty-seven, despite the nanomachines’ ability to maintain a youthful appearance of half her actual age, Angela simply didn’t care enough to bother, and it seemed like another world not worth investing in anymore.

                A softness consumed Angela’s body then, and the doctor realized she had completely dozed off, lost in her subconscious thoughts. A blanket was pulled over her form, and she squinted just barely through heavy eyelids to see Fareeha climbing into her own bed, a tight pair of black short shorts giving way to a surprisingly pleasing view prior to the light being switched off completely.


	9. Tracer

                ‘I failed, Winston. I couldn’t save him.’

                “…It’s all over the news, Lena. It’s not your fault. I know you tried your best. Was it that Talon sniper?”

                ‘Yep. It was her.’

                “She’s incredible if she could beat you.”

                ‘She did…fair and square.’

                “Hm.”

                ‘…I’m sorry.’

                “No. No. You don’t have to apologize. Are you okay?”

                ‘Honestly? Not really. My accelerator needs some maintenance. She roughed me up a bit.’

                “But you survived.”

                ‘Barely. And…I think…she let me, to be totally truthful.’

                “Let you? I don’t suspect so. Not her.”

                ‘Right? It sounds crazy, but…I don’t know.’

                “…You need to clear your head? Take a moment. Get a drink. I’ll have a carrier pick you up tomorrow. Breathe a little bit, okay?”

                ‘Okay. Okay. I can do that.’

                “Visit your friend.”

                ‘…Maybe.’

                “You should.”

                ‘…I really screwed up here, huh, Winston?’

                “The blame is not completely on you, no. But the impact on the future will likely be detrimental to our cause. I’ll need you for what I anticipate is coming.”

                ‘Besides Talon’s daft insanity?’

                “…Besides that, yes. I’d rather not say over this line, though. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Be careful with the chronal accelerator until then.”

                ‘Gotcha.’

                “Chin up.”

                ‘I’ll try…’

                Tracer allowed the dead line to linger in her ear. The chaos from Mondatta’s assassination was ongoing, even from a fair distance. The crowd that had gathered was devastated. The news anchors were earning their keep; the security staff members were counting the days of theirs. Mondatta promoted peace and prosperity between humans _and_ machines. He was the face of such a line of thinking. He founded the Shambali and was the anchor for what Overwatch believed was the correct path for humanity.

                And now he was gone.

                It was perhaps Talon’s greatest victory to date, and it was because Tracer had misjudged her time and space in the heat of battle. Widowmaker had completely outfought and outsmarted her. It was a crushing defeat. It was becoming more difficult to shoulder with every passing moment.

                Tracer loosened her goggles and let them rest around her neck, wiping at her eyes in frustration and trying not to scream with all the breath in her body. Winston was too kind to say it, but she knew this was more than just a little “detrimental” to precisely what she was fighting for. It was frustrating. It was embarrassing. The high Tracer felt upon thwarting Talon from successfully capturing Doomfist’s gauntlet was now completely negated. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so humiliated and full of regret.

                Lena subconsciously stood in front of a familiar apartment building’s door. She entered the foyer and buzzed up robotically. They were such practised motions by this point she could do it all with her eyes closed. They were blurred a bit anyway.

                “Lena?”

                ‘Heh. How’d you know it was me, Luv?’

                There was a beat, and then the secondary doors clicked open.

                “Come up right away.”

                In the back of her mind and deep in her heart, Tracer knew this was a mistake. As she took the elevator up to the fifth floor of an almost antique building found in the old part of King’s Row, the familiar, smoky fumes of the place filling her nostrils, Lena was more than aware she shouldn’t be seeing Emily. They had left their relationship ambiguous during their last chat. Who they were to one another remained elevated in limbo, alongside Tracer’s existence without the device strapped to her small chest.

                This most recent fight reminded Tracer that she was still very much human, and she could die quite easily just as well. Widowmaker almost assuredly “let” her live. Why? Tracer didn’t know, but the situation itself leant the time leaper’s mind to a vein of thought and consideration she couldn’t ignore any longer.

                Before Lena could get around the corner of the hall leading to Emily’s place, the girl was dashing down it, her hair like fire behind her pretty head. She embraced Tracer with just enough force, holding the girl’s shaggy hair in a grip of iron.

                ‘What happened? Are you alright?’

                She could tell instantly based on Lena’s singular comment downstairs. It made Tracer’s heart wrench further.

                ‘Sorta kinda?’

                ‘So, not in the slightest.’ Emily scolded, holding Lena’s hips.

                ‘Meh.’ Tracer shrugged, her eyes burning suddenly.

                ‘Come with me. Let’s get you a warm drink.’

                ‘Okay…’ Tracer muttered, hating that she found Emily so attractive even with the thoughts swirling in her jumbled mind.

                Emily’s apartment was very much her. Neat, somewhat homey, yet with a touch of refinement that revealed a hidden level of intellect and appreciation for innovation. It was a familiar apartment. The soft browns, blacks, and flashes of accentual colours – like red and orange – only amplified the sense of nostalgia. It was one of the few places Lena felt truly safe and secure. But she couldn’t drag Emily into any of this. Talon was ruthless. As it was, Winston would need to keep an eye on the young woman. She was a weakness for one of Overwatch’s most capable fighters.

                ‘Okay. I’m guessing it’s safe to assume you were involved with Mondatta’s assassination?’

                ‘I tried to stop it, yeah.’ Tracer sunk into Emily’s couch as the other girl began making some coffee and tea. The cushions were flattened just a bit. They had made love on this couch more than a few times. The thought hurt in many ways.

                ‘…I’m sorry, Lena. I…I do know how important he was to Overwatch’s beliefs.’

                ‘He pretty much was the figurehead for exactly what we’re fighting for. This is a massive blow and I let it happen. Trust me, I’m upset, but I’m not goin’ to have a pity party for longer than, say, maybe a half hour more?’ Tracer tried to laugh, but it was hard. She wanted to giggle this away, but that would be diverting her eyes from the truth.

                ‘You’re allowed to be upset, you know?’

                ‘That’s not how I roll, Luv. No surprise, right?’

                Emily sighed, bringing over the hastily-made drinks and placing Tracer’s steaming coffee on the coaster she and her girlfriend had picked out together.

                ‘Who did it?’

                Tracer hesitated. She had already put Emily in the line of fire by coming here, but considering it was immediately after the assassination, she prayed Talon wasn’t keeping tabs on her yet. For all they knew, she was dead even. She needed to come to terms with the fight she had lost, but what she also needed to say afterward made it difficult to take advantage of Emily’s kindness.

                ‘Don’t worry. I can handle it.’ Emily grinned, sipping her tea gingerly and looking too beautiful.

                ‘Her name’s Widowmaker. That’s her codename anyway. She’s some kinda super advanced assassin. Blue skin and everything. Sorta daft, huh?’

                ‘Blue skin?’ Emily flinched back, and she wasn’t one to be easily surprised.

                ‘Yup. There isn’t a crazy amount of detail on her, but something about her heartbeat being slowed and such.’

                ‘You never were one for reading the fine print.’

                ‘Hey!’

                ‘But it would make sense. An assassin that isn’t compromised by their own bodily functions? I can’t imagine what procedures she had to go through to become like that.’

                ‘Right…’

                Emily cocked her head slightly, leaning in.

                ‘What else?’

                ‘She’s a sniper, and she’s also an amazing strategist and fighter. She totally beat me, Em. I mean, I can jump through time forward and back but she still managed to stop me. If I hadn’t recalled at the last minute, the bullet that killed Mondatta would have done me in for good.’

                Lena saw her girlfriend’s eye twitch.

                ‘She was that lethal?’

                ‘It was _so_ frustrating. She could’ve finished me off a couple of times, but…she didn’t.’

                ‘Why do you think that is?’

                ‘Psh. Your guess is as good as mine, but…’

                ‘But what?’

                ‘When I had her, and I was screaming at her, asking her “why?”, she gave me a really weird reaction.’ Goosebumps pervaded Lena’s body the more she thought about the look Widowmaker expressed in that bizarre moment. It was jarring and uncanny, barely making sense and mixing up the Overwatch agent’s memories with every recount.

                ‘Really?’

                ‘Yeah. Like…she lost her mind for a second. She laughed at me, but her eyes were…um…just so full of pain, confusion, and…maybe fear? I can’t really remember anymore. I might just be making this up. Ugh…’

                ‘Mm.’ Emily sipped her tea, her brow furrowing in contemplation. ‘Again, it sort of makes sense. If she was experimented on or genetically altered, there are going to be side effects, right? She can’t be sound in the head anymore.’

                ‘Yeah?’

                ‘Definitely. Or…maybe definitely. I don’t know her, obviously. Do you have a picture?’

                ‘A small one.’ Tracer brought out her phone, always impressed by the endurance Winston’s custom-made protector exemplified by coming out of such a skirmish with no issues whatsoever. She tapped at one of her e-mails, bringing up the brief information she had been given before the museum’s mission. Lena then tapped at the attachment, a partially blurred image of Widowmaker’s severe face filling the screen.

                ‘That’s her?’

                ‘Yup.’

                ‘Bloody gorgeous, isn’t she?’

                ‘Can’t deny that. Bet she’d be even more irresistible if she wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer.’

                ‘But I see what you mean.’ Emily went on, squinting.

                ‘Huh?’

                ‘Her eyes. They seem vacant of emotion, but there’s something definitely there. It’s too deep for me to say anything else, but you weren’t seeing things, I think.’

                Tracer stared at the picture. It was hard not to struggle with the conflicting emotions within. There were too many, and the girl didn’t like to be frazzled so easily. She wasn’t drawing the same information Emily was from the image. She was too influenced.

                ‘I have to beat her next time.’ Tracer said to herself, and Emily placed her cup down with a harsh clack.

                ‘You will. I know you will. You’re an incredible woman, Lena. And I’m glad you’re not thinking something foolish like it would’ve been better if the bullet hit you instead. You understand the flaw in that argument, right?’

                ‘Y-yeah.’ Tracer’s face burned. Of _course_ she considered that scenario, but it was too morbid and dark for her, personally.

                ‘This Widowmaker lady would have killed Mondatta the moment you were out of the picture. If she’s as good as you say she is, nobody else in this city would have stood a chance.’

                Tracer felt Emily’s hand rest on her shoulder, the flight jacket making it difficult to feel the touch as much as she wanted to. There was a pause between the two young women, and every time Lena attempted to meet Emily’s eyes, her stomach flipped and her mouth became dry. However, as always, Emily seemed to know exactly what her girlfriend was thinking, and it dug into Tracer’s already fragile state of being within that tear in time.

                ‘Now, you’re going to break up with me for sure this time, aren’t you?’ Emily’s voice hardened, and her eyes were already becoming glassy despite the act she tried to present.

                Tracer’s throat tightened, and she bit at her lips.

                ‘I gotta, Em. I don’t want to, but it’s for the best…for both of us.’

                ‘I know.’ Emily sniffed, smiling painfully. It was so hard to look at, but Lena knew she had to. ‘I know. I’ve had some time to think about it, and it’s only fair to you…and to me.’

                ‘…I love you, Em. I really do. If…after all this…I’ll come say “hi” and, you know, maybe something might work out. But…don’t “wait” for me, kay? I don’t know what’s going to happen in this war, but our enemy is much tougher this time around. I can’t…be distracted. Today proved that.’

                ‘Yes. It did. For you to be so shaken up, I know this is beyond both of us. You’re a hero. I’m just a girl in King’s Row that was lucky enough to tickle your fancy for a spell.’

                Tracer’s teeth hurt she was gritting them so.

                ‘I want to leave on a good note, Em. I don’t want us to fall apart because of resentment and such, you know?’

                ‘I agree. I came to the same conclusion, honestly. I guess we are two peas in a pod, huh?’

                ‘Absolutely…’ Lena laughed, but she was almost crying.

                ‘Look at us? Such a mess. Heheh…’

                ‘Right? Complete wreckage.’

                Lena and Emily touched one another’s hand, their fingers interlocking and their eyes meeting in mutual, blurred understanding. They were both sniffing and wiping their eyes with their free arm, but they were also smiling, hopeful yet scared.

                ‘Can I make a selfish request, then?’ Emily’s voice cracked, and it was adorable.

                ‘Sure, Luv. Anything. Really.’

                Red painted across Emily’s freckled face, and she glanced downward shyly, a rare showing of vulnerability that always made the more aggressive Tracer wild.

                ‘Can we…just one more time? As a final farewell for now? I-I understand if you’re not up to it. This night’s been crazy, but, well, I guess you’re rubbing off on me or something, because – ’

                Tracer couldn’t kiss Emily fast enough. She held her girlfriend’s angular face and felt their lips melding in a familiar embrace of affection. It was foolish, she knew, but it was the perfect outlet, and they both wanted/needed the connection. Tracer was leaving an old life behind. She couldn’t bind Emily to her with such an uncertain future. Emily was bright, attractive, and too good to leave in a state of limbo. Did Lena want a clean, understanding break, or a messy, deconstruction of everything they had created until now?

                As Tracer’s hands pushed up and into Emily’s loose sweater, feeling her modest breasts and peeling back the final layer of material that separated her dexterous fingers from the hardened tips of her girlfriend’s body, she knew she wanted this. When she would experience such raw, unfiltered affection from another in the near future again was nothing but uncertain. Departing in this fashion was a perfect close to a chapter Tracer didn’t know she wanted.

                ‘Always straight for my chest, huh?’ Emily breathed in a sensual whisper, her lips still grazing Lena’s.

                ‘Can’t help it, Luv; they’re too perfect to resist.’

                ‘Yours aren’t anything to hide either.’ Emily knew how to unfasten Tracer’s chronal accelerator, and although it always made the Overwatch agent a little nervous, her girlfriend was ever careful, placing the device not too far away, and handling it with the utmost of gentility. She pulled at Lena’s leather jacket, shuffling it off, peeling down her yellow spandex with a scowl.

                ‘This outfit is a pain.’

                ‘Feels like another layer of skin, you know? Helps with the whole hero thing.’

                ‘Right. Right.’

                The girls helped one another strip down until only their underwear remained, and then Emily giggled, observing Lena’s stringy pair.

                ‘That’s so not you.’

                ‘Ugh. Tell me about it. But anything else rides up until there’s no tomorrow, so what choice do I have?’

                ‘Still, a thong? I mean, it’s pretty sexy, trust me, but completely out of character, so everything’s cancelled out.’

                ‘It’s all the same when we’re naked, isn’t it?’ Tracer shouted, pouncing on Emily to hide her embarrassment. The girls were pressing atop one another a moment later, Lena kissing Emily desperately; regretfully. She moved her fingers within her girlfriend’s panties, stroking her moist body and teasing the redhead’s womanhood purposefully.

                ‘H-hah…’ Emily gasped in between navigating Lena’s mouth. Her groans of submission always pushed Lena further, since Emily was normally so composed and even intimidating to most.

                ‘Does that feel good?’ Tracer giggled.

                ‘You…tell me.’ Emily countered, applying the same pleasure to Tracer, feeling her stomach and groin turn with delight at the touch. ‘Oh. You cleaned up?’

                ‘Had to, Luv. A-ah…Tight suit…and all…’

                Both pairs of underwear fell to the floor soon thereafter, and Tracer grinded her hips into Emily’s, their bodies responding in an experienced, rhythmic motion. Lena persisted in playing with Emily’s entrance, and the girl’s hand tickled her lover’s back, their breasts touching and merging.

                ‘S-stop being so cruel…and put your beautiful fingers inside me already…!’

                ‘Heheh! You asked for it.’ Tracer smiled, pressing her forehead against Emily’s and steadying her heart for her favourite part. She wanted to experience the sensation of Emily’s warmth and savor it one last time. She wanted to bring Emily with her in a Recall and do this over and over and over.

                Overwatch. Talon. Mondatta. Omnics. Fighting. Death. Widowmaker. They could all wait for one night. After this, Tracer would focus on her duties as an Overwatch agent. She would think about Emily, surely, but knowing they were no longer officially together would help ease the anxiety and worry. This way was the path they both agreed on. It wasn’t the easiest route, but it was the one Lena and Emily would tackle together while apart.

                Emily’s voice screamed at the end of it all, and Tracer extracted her hand, licking her fingers if only to see the pretty, naked girl below her blush uncontrollably. She held Lena tightly, their nude forms slightly sticky from sweat. Tracer could still notice the miniature spasms coursing through Emily’s lower abdomen, and she grinned, squeezing the other girl tightly. She was about to release her, but Emily held on, keeping her face hidden.

                ‘I’ll miss you.’ She muttered quietly, a rare showing of true emotion from the fairly strong person.

                ‘I’ll miss you, too, Luv. Really.’

                ‘…Thanks. For everything.’

                ‘Stop. You’re goin’ to make me cry.’

                ‘You’re already crying.’

                ‘So are you.’

                ‘You can’t prove it.’

                ‘…Guess I can’t.’

                Tracer sniffed, holding Emily and locking this memory away forever.

                ‘Make me proud.’

                ‘Will do.’

                ‘…Goodbye.’

                ‘Bye, Em.’


	10. Pharah

                Fareeha was completely disoriented when she awoke. Her mind was hazy, but she knew she had slept very well. She pushed herself up in the unfamiliar bed, and rubbed her eyes, the buzzing in the back of her head already dissipating. After another moment or two, the Egyptian looked about the dimly lit room and noted Angela Ziegler completely angelic in her own bed. The cover Fareeha took it upon herself to comfort the woman with barely moved from the night before. For the doctor to still be sleeping, she must’ve been exhausted, and that was surely saying something considering Mercy’s inability to relax at times, it seemed.

                Fareeha stretched, gave Angela one lingering glance that lasted longer than she thought it would, and then stealthily slid out of her bed, slipping through the room’s door to the hallway. She had been to enough inns to know that breakfast and coffee would be served only for a certain amount of time, and considering it was just past eight in the morning already, Fareeha also knew she needed to make haste, since her and Angela’s departure would be within the hour. It was likely they _wouldn’t_ have time to shop for some clothes for the poor doctor, and while that bothered Fareeha, Mercy likely hadn’t had such a good rest in quite some time. For her health, perhaps this was for the best.

                Fareeha’s cellphone beeped, the default sound for her notifications, and she checked the e-mail that followed. As if responding to her concerns directly, it was from the primary pilot, who went by “Johnny” in his message. It was a laughably generic alias.

                “Our new bird is taking longer than anticipated to prep. Recalibrated meeting time is at 1300 hours. Take a look around the area, but try to keep a relatively low profile. Later!”

                Fareeha breathed a sigh of relief, and responded with a defined affirmative, reaching the small dining area and beginning to prep her and Angela’s coffee. While the blend brewed, she compiled a plate of fruit, consisting of grapes, strawberries, and oranges, and then put together another one of various breads, such as a bagel, cinnamon roll, and toast with a side of jam. She wasn’t sure what Angela liked, so she attempted to obtain a fair variety for her. There was only an elderly couple enjoying a quiet breakfast together in the nearby sitting area, but Fareeha still knew she must’ve given off a rather gluttonous impression.

                “…Government officials are still investigating Tekhartha Mondatta’s horribly unfortunate assassination. There are few leads, with only one of the critically injured security officers stating that he was assaulted by what appeared to be a blur of black and blue. He claims it was nearly impossible to make out his assailant, but the consensus is that the terrorist was acting on their own, making it even more difficult to pinpoint their origin. Whispers of the crime organization known as “Talon” continue to persist, and considering the amount of skill analysts claim the shot must’ve taken in order to land in such a minute, critical area upon Mondatta, there is notable unrest within the world as the conclusion that a criminal organization houses such talent at their disposal is reached. After a short break, the weather will be next.”

                The newest member of Overwatch gave pause, taking in the pictures and information sliding across the television. The elderly couple simply shook their heads collectively, saying something somewhat indistinct to one another.

                Fareeha Amari knew of Tekhartha Mondatta. How couldn’t she? He was known all over the world for revolutionizing the way omnics could and should be perceived. Although Fareeha had some reservation when it came to the mechanical entities, she couldn’t deny there was more to the machines than one may first conclude. What concerned the agent more was Talon’s involvement and, more vexingly, the inclusion of the sniper involved.    Although the details surrounding Ana Amari’s death were scarce, Fareeha had managed to determine –  through her own connections in the army – that she had been shot, also potentially by a Talon sniper. Of course, Talon likely had more than enough assassins talented at such things, but for a genius-level markswoman herself to be downed, there were very few individuals capable of beating Ana Amari, from what Fareeha understood, no matter what bitterness rested in her heart. Thus, Mondatta’s death picked at a scab in Fareeha’s mind that she couldn’t resist itching.

                However, that could wait. Once Overwatch’s base in Gibraltar was reached, Fareeha might get some answers then. At the moment, Angela Ziegler’s comfort came first. She had been through an ordeal, and Fareeha was taking it upon herself to look after the other woman. Two individuals didn’t survive such a scenario without becoming just a little closer, even though Mercy kept her true considerations and feelings quite close, hiding her complex thoughts behind a motherly and calming – if a little sad – smile.

                Fareeha managed, through something of a juggling act, to get back into her room, and was slightly relieved to find Angela was up, although that occurrence must’ve been seconds prior, for her eyes were still practically closed, and she hadn’t done anything about the fact her borrowed shirt was slipping even further down her arm, creating quite the tantalizing image in the form of her natural cleavage. Fareeha blinked and turned her gaze, wondering why she was so drawn to the other woman’s form in general once again. She chalked it up to admiration and envy. Mercy was everything Fareeha wanted to be as a previous Overwatch agent and, more accurately, a hero.

                ‘Good morning, Dr. Ziegler.’ Fareeha managed, giving Mercy time to adjust to her surroundings.

                ‘Good morning, Ms. Amari.’ The doctor sighed, rubbing her forehead.

                ‘Sorry. Angela.’

                ‘That’s better.’ Angela grinned, her eyes somehow twinkling despite the lack of much lighting besides that which was seeping through the drawn curtains.

                ‘How did you sleep?’ Fareeha went on, placing the food and drinks on one of the bedside tables.

                ‘I managed. Admittedly, it was a better rest than I’ve known for some time, although the dreams were erratic and nightmarish on occasion. It’s to be expected. Not even I can fully control my subconscious quite yet.’

                ‘I see…’

                Angela shuffled over to the food and steaming coffee, still not having fixed her shirt.

                ‘You brought us something to eat and drink? You’re too kind, Fareeha.’ The woman beamed, almost child-like.

                ‘I wasn’t sure what you preferred, so I brought a little bit of everything.’

                ‘How considerate. I am not overly picky, to be honest. Doing what I do, you can’t truly afford to be.’

                ‘That makes sense.’

                Angela drank a sip of her coffee, and then added a splash of milk and sugar. She also took a bite of a strawberry, the juices speckling her lips a slight tinge of red. Fareeha found herself watching again, her cursed eyes lingering about no matter how much she attempted to force them away from the only spot in the room they shouldn’t be observing so heavily.

                As if responding to the gaze, Mercy finally adjusted her top a bit, kindly not calling Fareeha out as the Egyptian flinched internally.

                ‘Are we not leaving yet? Our pilots mentioned a departure at dawn, did they not?’

                ‘Y-yes. At 1300 hours we’ll be on our way. There were complications with our transfer, by the sounds of things.’

                ‘As there always is.’ Mercy shrugged bemusedly. ‘That gives me a chance to perhaps purchase a new outfit for the time being, I suppose. You’re somewhat broad, aren’t you? I am not accustomed to feeling so exposed, and you were struggling with telling me about my compromised state, correct?’

                ‘For the most part…’ Fareeha struggled to lie. ‘But yes, I was assuming we could help better equip you for the rest of the trip. You were forced to leave everything, and that must be trying.’

                ‘Materialistic value means little to me. Functionality and purpose are far more alluring.’

                ‘That doesn’t surprise me, now that I have learned more about you.’

                ‘Some perceive me as vain, I’ll have you know.’ Angela continued to consume her food slowly, yet consistently. It filled Fareeha with a bizarre sense of fulfillment, knowing she was the one to have brought the breakfast to Mercy.

                ‘Vain?’

                ‘Well, I’m thirty-seven, but I look barely older than twenty. My peers and rivals felt the need to condemn me in the past due to this fact. However, I was simply using nanomachines to preserve my body longer to further my research and give me more opportunity to help people around the world.’

                ‘Would implanting such technology in others help further your cause?’

                ‘I’m glad you asked that, Fareeha.’ Mercy smiled playfully, and it made Fareeha’s chest tight. ‘Yes and no. The amount of conditioning, not to mention the cost, is exponential. Additionally, I am a living experiment for the longevity of such technology. Who knows what form of negative impact such tampering will ultimately have on my body? As it is…’

                Mercy’s voice trailed off, and she took a bite of her croissant.

                ‘As it is…?’ Fareeha probed after enough time had passed.

                ‘Never mind. I apologize for rudely dismissing my thought pattern, but I shouldn’t discuss it now.’

                Fareeha wanted nothing more than to push for more information, but she respected Angela’s privacy. They weren’t close enough to step over that line quite yet. Once they reached Overwatch Gibraltar, perhaps they wouldn’t see one another much at all. The thought bothered Fareeha more than she desired it to.

                ‘I understand.’ Fareeha submitted.

                ‘Thank-you.’ Angela smiled again, and that was enough for Fareeha to not regret her decision. ‘Now, as much as I’d love to traverse Ilios wearing something so frivolous, would you be so kind as to lend me, perhaps, one more set of clothing, Fareeha?’

                Both women were just about done eating by the time Fareeha started digging through her suitcase for Angela. Fareeha herself was something of a minimalist, so, she didn’t actually have much to spare. Nonetheless, she found a maroon sweater and simple black pair of tighter-fit pants that seemed sufficient. As expected, the vision of Mercy dressed in (slightly too large) clothes that belonged to Fareeha gave the Egyptian a strange sense of satisfaction.

                ‘The phrase “boyfriend’s shirt” comes to mind.’ Mercy laughed, observing herself in the mirror from various angles. She looked adorable, and what she said only served to push Fareeha into more modes of discomfort.

                ‘Have you ever done such a thing, Fareeha? I imagine you would require a rather larger man to adequately pull off such a look. Someone like Reinhardt?’

                ‘P-perhaps.’

                ‘Is your current significant other capable of providing you with this sensation?’

                Fareeha almost bit her tongue answering.

                ‘I am not currently involved in anything romantic.’

                ‘Ah.’ Angela giggled a little. ‘We are _both_ women married to our work, then. It is a small wonder I feel a level of comradery with you. How pleasant. We’re a rare breed, some might say.’

                Fareeha didn’t know how to respond. She was happy Angela was seemingly coping with the events from the day before fairly well, but she was also annoyed that the doctor held such a shield about herself emotionally. What was she actually thinking and feeling? Why was Fareeha so curious to the point that she felt ill?

                ‘I’ve…been on a few dates somewhat recently, but they didn’t quite lead to anything substantial.’ Fareeha found herself saying, unclear with her reasoning for expounding upon the subject.

                ‘My romantic endeavours from the rather distant past at this point had similar conclusions. I don’t really bother anymore. Men are intimidated by me, for the most part, and it makes for strained conversation on both ends no matter what the circumstance. It’s hard for me to shut off the “doctor” side of my personality, and I understand that contributes to my inability to find a sound mate. The fact I don’t feel the need to be positively appraised by another individual on a regular basis nulls a sense of desperation as well. Overall, at thirty-seven, romance is quite low on the list of priorities.’

                Fareeha observed Angela shrug, a knot forming in the younger woman’s throat. Why was this conversation causing her such anxiety? Did she feel sorry for Dr. Ziegler? Did she simply not know how to reply? Fareeha opened her mouth, feeling the dryness of it suddenly.

                ‘That…is quite the loss to men everywhere, one could say.’ Fareeha flinched back at her own words, and she hoped Mercy couldn’t sense the increase in her own blood pressure. What on earth was she even saying?

                ‘Oh? Another rather complimentary comment from Ms. Amari? Best be careful, for I may believe _you_ to be interested in me given enough of such reinforcement.’

                ‘M-me!?’ Fareeha’s eyes widened, her brain buzzing. ‘No. That…that’s not…’

                Mercy giggled, touching Fareeha’s shoulder.

                ‘I’m teasing you, Fareeha. I must admit, you are quite amusing, and I’m sorry for drawing humour at your expense. I’m also sorry if my insinuation insulted you or made you uncomfortable.’

                ‘…I’m not upset.’ Fareeha could only say, trying to meet Angela’s clear eyes. ‘I was just…surprised.’

                ‘Well, you seem like the slightly uptight type, so, I should’ve known better.’

                ‘No. Well, perhaps, but…’ Fareeha bit at her lip, and then met Mercy’s gaze finally. ‘If it helps make you feel even a little better, please tease me all you like.’

                A beat, and then Angela was giggling; truly laughing. She held her stomach, covering her mouth, her eyes smiling brightly. Fareeha grinned, knowing she had somehow calmed the legendary hero known as Mercy just a bit.

 

***

 

                “Our current promotion is buy three of any item and get the fourth free!”

                “This just came in, and I assure you I only have a limited quantity. Your timing is perfect.”

                “A white dress for the pretty lady? You would charm everyone with such an outfit!”

                “Buy one get the second half off!”

                “Spend 200 euros and get a 20 euro gift card!”

                “Everything is 10% off!”

                “If you need anything, just let any of our staff member know.”

                “Ladies! Ladies! Over here!”

                ‘I normally have the patience for such things, but I’m not even interested in staying in many of these shops.’ Angela took a seat on a small bench near a fountain. This part of Ilios was certainly a tourist attraction, and many of the residential businesses made sure the majority of vacationers knew it. It _was_ a little overwhelming, and Fareeha was just happy she wasn’t the only one that felt this way.

                ‘Once we arrive at our destination there might not be another opportunity to find any suitable clothing, right?’

                ‘It’s possible; don’t worry. We’re not closed off from the world. Honestly, this sweater and the pants you have provided me might be sufficient, if you wouldn’t mind my wearing of them until we make arrival. Perhaps one more shirt and a pair of bottoms would be ideal. Oh…’ Mercy paused, shaking her head and smirking.

                ‘What is it?’

                ‘Well, not even I enjoy my current lack of…undergarments.’

                Fareeha’s cheeks flared. She completely forgot. So, right now, Angela wasn’t…in her clothes…

                ‘Considering I am the one doing without, I find it curious that _you’re_ so flustered. Heheh!’

                ‘I am just…sympathetic.’

                ‘That I do believe, from what I know of you. I suppose I should remedy this particular predicament. Would you like to stay here or join me? I shouldn’t be long.’

                ‘I will accompany you.’ Fareeha felt it the most natural course of action, and soon enough, the two women were making their way into a little store that specialized in such things. Fareeha quite rarely invested much time or money into such a frivolity, considering her occupation, and the sheer scope of even a store like this was overwhelming when one thought about its primary purpose. Pastel colours were everywhere, with miniature, holographic images projecting the various articles that could be worn on a perfectly proportioned, idealized body of the female body. Fareeha watched as the images filtered through an array of styles, her dark, wide eyes taking in the forms with curiosity. She imagined Angela’s face and body instead of the dolls before her, and the Egyptian ripped her eyes away, not sure where to look anymore.

                ‘This city is more advanced than I anticipated. They’re implementing some of the latest advertising technology. How exciting!’ Angela had already procured a few ensembles, by the looks of things, but Fareeha disallowed herself from making more foolhardy observations. She tried to find something interesting to keep herself occupied, but her current situation made that somewhat impossible as well.

                ‘Hmm…I suppose this will do for now. I don’t care for anything overly extravagant.’

                ‘Right…’

                ‘Do you need anything?’ Angela asked, going to the counter without even bothering to try something on. She either knew her measurements excessively well, or she just didn’t care that much.

                ‘I’m fine.’

                ‘Oh? I saw a black pair that made me think of you in that corner. Is that odd?’ Mercy turned to pay, and Fareeha was thankful for it, because she knew her face was burning. It was just admiration. It was simply being star-struck. It would all change by the end of the day. There was no point imagining anything other than being acquaintances was transpiring. Mercy was known for her selflessness and kindness. Fareeha was just another patient. Her emotions were behaving erratically because of the way her life had been so completely flipped within such a short period of time. That’s all any of this was.

                ‘Fareeha?’ Angela’s voice cut into the other girl’s mind, and she flinched back into the present.

                ‘Yes?’

                ‘I don’t have any money.’

 

***

 

                ‘I owe you one, Fareeha. How nearsighted of me. When one is used to having some magical method of paying at all times it is quite unsettling when a new reality takes the old’s place. I will pay you back.’

                ‘You do not have to.’ Fareeha softly. So, even the great Mercy had a _slightly_ clumsy side. ‘It was my fault as well for not anticipating as much. You have so much on your mind as it is, the least I can do is continue to support you.’

                ‘Ah…’ Angela almost sighed, her tone becoming distant. ‘I am not quite accustomed to being the one supported. Are you attempting to take _my_ role?’

                Fareeha smiled, shrugging.

                ‘Perhaps.’

                ‘Well, regardless, I do appreciate your help today. You have made what could’ve been a difficult time much more bearable.’

                ‘Good.’

                A pause, with the pleasant sun and gab of other tourists and local residents circulating about in an illusion of perfect peace. There was, curiously, a lack of anything omnic, but Fareeha payed the detail no heed.

                ‘Now, might I ask one more favor?’

                ‘Anything.’ Fareeha blurted, retracting her enthusiasm instantly. ‘Er…Yes. Of course.’

                ‘Heheh. This outing has left me a little parched. Would you mind stopping to get a drink? Something fruity sounds pleasing.’ Angela was already proceeding to a snack stand, the rustic nature of the establishment immediately charming. It was strange, for Angela was such a prestigious individual, yet she was more than satisfied with street vendors. She ordered her shake with precision, treating the cashier and mixer with the utmost of courtesy and respect. It was just her nature. Everyone was equal in her eyes. Nobody stood above another. Fareeha was one of the rest. She knew this.

                Fareeha and Angela sat down with their refreshments, and checking the time, Fareeha knew they couldn’t relax for too much longer.

                ‘I know we have but half an hour.’ Angela confirmed, the sound of her voice serious. ‘Just…let me have a moment longer like this.’ She pursed her lovely lips about her straw and sucked up the red-tinged concoction until the stream disappeared into her mouth. Fareeha went with more of a grape flavour, but she was too distracted, yet again, to know what it tasted like yet.

                ‘It’s fine.’

                ‘But you’re a stickler for punctuation and rules, yes?’

                ‘…A little.’ Fareeha relented, knowing it was pointless to lie.

                The breeze was nice. The smell of the ocean was nice. The view…was nice. Fareeha rarely took the time to relax, but this could’ve been worse.

                ‘Can I admit something?’ Angela started again, looking just a little less confident.

                ‘Please.’

                ‘Well, firstly, thank-you for the drink. I owe you yet again.’

                ‘It’s really nothing.’

                ‘Nonetheless…’ Angela smirked, but her glorious smile faded. ‘In any case, I have to say…I have my reservations about joining again.’

                Fareeha nodded slowly, finally sipping her drink simply for something to do.

                ‘It is an admirable role to fulfill, if used for the correct purposes, but I did things I am not proud of when fighting last time. With very human influences involved now, I fear I will be presented with an ultimatum in relation to my personal vows. I don’t want to make such decisions again. I agonize over them to this day.’

                ‘I…can somewhat understand.’

                ‘Can you?’

                ‘A little, although you are a much better person than I.’

                ‘Debatable.’ Angela snickered melancholically. ‘However, I understand it is an inevitable procedure, and I will do my part on a grander scale for the time being. I just hope that history does not repeat itself.’

                ‘Winston seems capable.’

                ‘He is.’ Angela nodded. ‘He is. His judgement of you was quite sound, from what I can determine. If our group is filled with individuals like yourself, I have little to fear. Alas, that is the epitome of wishful thinking.’

                Fareeha blinked, hiding her embarrassment behind her drink.

                ‘If…if you need someone to talk to during our stay…er…I am available.’ Fareeha felt herself standing before a cliff, knowing it was a silly thing to say. But then a warm hand touched her own, and she glanced up to find Mercy’s powerful gaze meeting hers.

                ‘That may very well be a necessity on occasion. Who knows?’

                It was ambiguous and kind, so what more could Fareeha expect?

                Mercy visibly seemed to shake off the brief moment of vulnerability and reequipped her mask of undaunting prowess.

                ‘Either way,’ Angela’s voice rang cheerfully to any who heard only her words. ‘You have already proven a better date than any I’ve had in the past, so, there’s that, at the very least.’

                ‘Really?’ Fareeha raised a brow, trying to match Angela’s pace even a little. ‘Then I am afraid you have had terrible luck.’

                Angela laughed, and the fact she didn’t disagree immediately eased Fareeha’s chest achingly.

                ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Angela giggled as she finished her shake. ‘You just happen to be an agreeable person, as far as I am concerned.’

                And Fareeha wished their departure would be delayed again.


	11. Widowmaker

                “Report.” The cold, distorted voice demanded through a small computer. Widowmaker was seated by herself in what could be called an interrogation room. The voice was familiar, although one that few were allowed to hear. Only the most elite of Talon agents spoke with the perceived leader of the organization. His or her face was completely unknown. His or her existence was sometimes even questioned. The leader of Talon was an idea, and one born from necessity, much like that of any God.

                ‘Mission accomplished.’

                “That much is evident. Were there complications?”

                ‘Overwatch agent “Tracer” attempted to interfere. She was dealt with.’

                “Dead?”

                ‘…Presumably.’

                “The question is binary. Rethink your response. What is the answer?”

                ‘No.’

                “Why?”

                Something in Widow pinched, but it was so brief, and so numb, she questioned the sensation’s existence to begin with. “Why?” indeed.

                ‘She amused me. I didn’t want to break my toy just yet.’

                “Amused? Did I hear you correctly?”

                ‘…Yes.’

                “For one to be “amused” one would require a semblance of emotion. One would be required to “feel” something. Are you claiming you felt something during your mission today beyond the notion of success at completing your life’s purpose?”

                ‘Vaguely. As my name suggests, it is the excitement of the kill. Just as the black widow “feels” nothing, truly, that does not mean there isn’t a level of elevation prior to its strike. It is an inevitable adrenaline rush that all hunters experience. I simply chose to create a source of entertainment for future endeavours.’

                There was a long pause, Widowmaker sitting perfectly still with a posture that any artist would kill to capture in a mold. Her mind was quiet, lulled into boredom and distance. There was a fog in her eyes, a disconnect from reality like no other. Hours could have gone by, and only her stomach would have hinted at the need for sustenance.

                “Take off your clothes. Take everything off.” The practically mechanized voice demanded suddenly. The only lapse of time between the demand and Widow peeling her skin-tight outfit and equipment away from her idealized form was the second required for her brain to register what was asked of it. After no more than thirty seconds, Widow stood completely naked, her blue-toned skin alien despite the nude proportions a Goddess would be envious off. Her dark violet hair hung about her shoulders in a mess, her ponytail undone, locks of the unnatural mane resting upon her unbelievably shaped derriere.

                Widowmaker nearly sighed. Shame wasn’t a word she understood anymore. She comprehended the allure of sexual activity and the drive it provided for most human beings, but she wasn’t human anymore. She cared not for her body beyond its capabilities as a weapon. Desire didn’t register within Widowmaker. Despite the few Talon agents brave/stupid enough to attempt to “flirt” with Widowmaker in any way, the infamous sniper found a rock on the side of the street just as appealing.

                “Good. However, you are to kill any Overwatch agents on sight from this point forward. Your mission’s success appeals to my tolerance for your slight misconduct. Nonetheless, a checkup with Moira is called for. She has been notified. See her immediately. Go as you are. Do not deviate from your primary role again. Understood?”

                ‘Is this supposed to be a punishment?’

                “If you are as you should be, it is nothing more than liberation.”

                The computer flashed off, and Widow was left with the sound of the steel door’s latch snapping open. She turned to the camera in the top righthand corner of the room and pointed at it, jerked her arm up as if she shot the piece of technology, and then made her way out of the room. She knew the surveillance team was getting off on her at this very moment. A gaze from Widow’s cold, dead eyes might cease any further self-pleasure, or at least make it slightly less desirable…not that Widowmaker truly gave a damn.

                Doctor Moira’s sector of Talon’s current main base of operations was a fair distance away. Widow was only reminded of her lack of clothes whenever a less than disciplined Talon agent or grunt couldn’t resist the urge to ogle her. Not a singular person said a word, and the assassin preferred it that way. Only the new recruits really dared to converse with the woman ever. Even completely naked, Widowmaker traversed her terrain with a level of confidence and elegance that generated an impenetrable shield about her person. She didn’t care whatsoever, and such a statuesque persona couldn’t easily be penetrated.

                “ _Why would you do this?_ ”

                The words echoed alongside the face that delivered them. Another poke, but was it even real?

                Widowmaker rounded a hall and eventually found her way to the beginning of Moira’s own personal wing of Talon’s base. The woman was one of Talon’s most dangerous members, capable of experiments that directly refuted whatever “greater plan” there was for humanity as a whole. She pushed the boundaries of genetic understanding, and manipulated the concept of life on a whim. Moira was one of the few individuals within Talon that Widow didn’t look down on. She was a genius, only ever legitimately being matched when spoken of next to Angela Ziegler. Even then, their fields of study were similar, but vastly opposing at the same time. Moira was a key player in Widowmaker’s development, after all, which spoke volumes for her motivations as a “doctor”.

                Widow approached Moira’s office, and before she could knock to notify her presence, another latch snapped loose, and Moira’s voice fed through the intercom.

                “It is unlocked.”

                If Widowmaker was akin to a spider, one could easily compare Moira to that of a snake. She gave and took life with the venom that was her practise. Quite literally, she was capable of at once healing and killing with but a flick of the right arm when fully equipped for combat…which was rare. Moira’s voice slithered through the speakers in its at once calming yet condescending tone, and Widow felt her lip twitch as she pushed open the door. The doctor was sitting at her desk, but didn’t look up, scribbling away at a massive collection of papers. She worked two pens at the same time, choosing old methods for documentation rather than using digital information when working through formulas and theories. She seemingly split her brain’s processing into two areas of deliberation, a feat impressive in its own right.

                Widow remained at the entrance for nearly two minutes before Moira finally looked up. She gave a slight roll of her eyes when her patient’s lack of clothing became apparent, and nodded to the spare lab coat hung on the back of the door from whence Widowmaker came.

                ‘Put that on and sit down, if you would be so willing.’

                Widowmaker didn’t care either way, but assumed some annoyance on Moira’s part, and thus, did as was suggested, pulling the white jacket tight before seating herself.

                ‘One moment.’ Moira muttered, finishing her work in another few minutes. She stacked the papers together and piled them on either side of her desk prior to placing her hands together and resting her long, sharp face upon the back of them.

                ‘Widowmaker. Are you being a naughty little girl?’

                If even Widow’s innate reactions coursed with a semblance of irritation, she could imagine how others felt in this woman’s dominating presence.

                ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

                A beat, and Moira slid her chair to the left, tapping at her computer and bringing up a projection that was apparently the file report of Widowmaker’s mission statement. Not only that, but a few videos were playing, clips of Widowmaker in action at King’s Row. She was recorded. Talon was keeping a _very_ close eye on her. It was understandable, however, for the mission _was_ of great import. Widowmaker recalled the quick scenes that were captured. One, in particular, beyond the satisfying way she dismantled half a dozen guards within minutes, displayed her and Tracer combating near the end of Widow’s mission.

                There was silence other than the light buzz of the electricity required to power such machines. Widowmaker’s blood vibrated, and she waited for Moira to speak. Finally, after too long, the doctor did.

                ‘Seven.’ Moira uttered, matter-of-factly.

                ‘Pardon?’ Widow responded as was expected of her, lacing her question with her native language’s French accent.

                ‘I am no expert, I will admit, but I personally count seven times you could have killed that girl. Here.’ Moira paused the video displaying the fight, enhancing the size of the image and pausing in between seconds of footage. ‘Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. And…here. Do you disagree?’

                ‘I do.’ Widowmaker shrugged. ‘I count fifteen opportunities.’

                Moira chuckled, her brow furrowing but still slightly relaxed in amusement.

                ‘Of course, you do.’ Moira’s heels clicked on the floor as she crept throughout the darkened room. ‘Thus, the question we all want answered is: why?’

                ‘I explained “why?”.’ Widowmaker’s temple throbbed, and the girl’s desperate expression screamed into her ear once more. ‘Our leader surely informed you.’

                ‘He did. It’s why my time is being wasted now. He suspects you’re in need of some…tuning. He desires my professional opinion.’ Moira tapped at her chin, moving to directly in front of Widow now, looking down at the woman with her slits for eyes. ‘There was an incident shortly before your departure, yes?’

                ‘Perhaps. I do not remember clearly.’

                Moira’s grin stretched to her ears.

                ‘Naturally. How pitiable.’

                ‘Do I require treatment, or can I go now?’ Widowmaker finally asked, bored beyond reason.

                ‘Not yet. I want some answers to just a few questions first. Do you have time?’

                It was a rhetorical question.

                ‘How do you feel?’

                ‘I don’t feel; that’s the point, isn’t it?’

                Moira shook her head.

                ‘Your emotions and physical receptors to discomfort have been dulled to near extinction, but not even I can eliminate them altogether lest you become a omnic completely. You “felt” excitement at being met with true adversity on the field of battle, correct?’

                ‘…I suppose.’

                ‘And that is, presumably, why Tracer lives to fight another day. Is this also correct?’

                ‘Yes.’ Widow thought about fighting the Overwatch agent and her chest fluttered, if just barely. ‘Yes, it is.’

                ‘Ah…’ Moira’s eyes widened, as if she realized something. ‘You’re a predator, indeed. Perhaps that is all there is to it, but I am…unconvinced. The human psyche is a resilient beast, primarily when handled by the well-bred. You were worth the effort, but goodness me, you’re quite the test subject when all is said and done.’

                ‘…And this means?’

                Moira rolled her eyes, and then she placed both hands on either side of Widow, her forked tongue practically tickling the sniper’s neck. She was wrapping her body all about her patient, constricting her in place without even actually touching her. She moved her lips to Widow’s ear and manipulated them slowly, hissing a singular name into her sense of hearing.

                ‘Gerard.’

                Widow almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the gesture, but then a sharp pain stabbed into her temple, as though Moira was digging a knife into her brain, and the stone-cold assassin’s eyes flickered, nausea overtaking her, as it had before without her recollecting.

                ‘Now…how do you feel?’ Moira went on, but Widowmaker could barely make out her words. Her mind was on fire. It hurt. This was pain. This was discomfort. This was something Widow was too unfamiliar with. Her neck tightened, and she grit her teeth, gripping at the chair with white knuckles.

                She knew that name. Deep in the locked-up memories she thought were gone forever, she _knew_ the name Gerard.

                ‘Who…is that?’ Widow grunted, hating this level of vulnerability.

                ‘Answering my question with another question? Not quite. However, I am willing to make my own deduction. You’re in evident pain. How…troublesome.’

                ‘Who is he? Why…do I know that name?’ Widow hissed anew, an emotion swirling within her veins that urged a sense of aggression she didn’t think she could harness anymore.

                ‘It is irrelevant to your current circumstance.’ Moira sighed, playing with some vials and what appeared to be medicine of some descript. She handled her equipment with all the gentility of a mother, observing her work lovingly. ‘This is a new string of your prescription. The goal is to eliminate these silly outbursts in the future. They’re becoming tiresome. I have more important tasks to contend with beyond your petty emotions that refuse to die.’

                Widow blinked, shaking her head and breathing heavily. The rush of sensations was overwhelming, and she knew she was blacking out. She fought her body’s desire to somehow adjust to the flurry of receptors long dormant becoming so active so easily. Widow stumbled into Moira’s desk, pushing at the papers, her lap-coat loosening open. She felt the wave of embarrassment, tugging at the jacket while also trying to focus on Moira.

                ‘Who…the hell…is Gerard?’ She repeated, the black specks becoming more prominent as the ringing in her ears reached a fever-pitch.

                ‘Your husband.’ Moira’s words slurred in deep caves of darkness. ‘Your late husband, more accurately.’

                ‘What…?’ Widow’s eyelids weighed her down, and she didn’t even realize her knees had buckled under her, bringing her to the ground. Her heart quivered, and a blitz of images flickered too quickly to make anything of. All they did was stir a discomfort like nothing before. Widowmaker wanted to vomit.

                ‘Did you not hear me? I said Gerard is your late husband.’ Moira readied what looked like a tiny gun, loading it with the new medicine. ‘You killed him. Don’t you remember? Hm. I suppose not.’

                ‘Killed…my husband?’ Widow’s eyes began to water. She was losing it again. She wasn’t built to handle such thoughts, feelings, and emotions anymore. They were as foreign as a virus. Her body rejected it all. Yet, at the same time, she also _wanted_ this discomfort. It proved…

                Something pricked Widow’s neck and a cold fluid numbed everything else.

                ‘A pity you won’t recall a single part of this conversation tomorrow. Stubborn woman. Gerard _had_ to marry someone with so much…passion. A normal human would be a vegetable by now, but your usefulness is nearly voided by the trouble it takes to refine Talon’s favourite tool. Alas, one cannot question the effectiveness of such equipment; that I shall not argue.’

                Widow’s face slammed into the ground, but her voice scratched to the service, climbing through the glacier that flooded her insides.

                ‘I’ll…kill…you…’ She grunted, and Moira laughed heartily as well as sincerely.

                ‘Oh, I would _love_ to see you attempt such a feat, little spider.’

 

***

 

                _‘My dear, never before have I been so mesmerized. Not only did you dance with the precision expected from that of a professional, but the pure emotion you evoked…my heart continues to beat against my chest in elevation.’_

                _‘Good sir you honour me with your praise. Thank-you very much.’_

                _‘I have seen your dance for quite some time now. I apologize if I appear nervous. You are something of a celebrity to me.’_

                _‘Oh?’_

_‘Even now, I am stunned by your beauty. This is a meeting I will not soon forget. I appreciate your time.’_

                _‘…What is your name?’_

                _‘My name? It’s…Gerard. Gerard Lacroix.’_


	12. Mercy

               Angela started the water and allowed the simply obtained warmth to cascade about her skin. The heat rose quickly, and she was forced to adjust the temperature by turning the “cold” side of the tap on just slightly. The washroom was abuzz with noise. Hand dryers, toilets flushing, and general gab from the various occupants were all a strange form of comfort.

                Life.

                It had felt like so long since Mercy was surrounded by frivolity such as this. She added soap, lathering her fingers throughout themselves, still smelling a hint of blood no matter how much she washed them. Her practise had stained her skin, but her involvement with Overwatch had tainted it.

                ‘Out, spot. Out, I say…’ Angela murmured.

                She exited the public space and found Fareeha leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, a few shopping bags at her feet, and her demeanor as a whole rather intimidating considering what Mercy knew of the young woman by this point. Angela grinned to herself, sighing inwardly in an attempt to maintain the image she wanted all to see. The fact she had revealed even a hint of her true thoughts to Fareeha was surprising to the doctor, and she steeled her resolve to maintain the appropriate distance from the other girl.

                ‘I’m back. Thank-you for waiting.’ Angela said cheerfully.

                ‘It was not a problem. But I do think we should get to our plane once we pick up the rest of our stuff from the inn.’

                ‘Of course. I suppose I should have waited until we returned, since we’re only a block or two away, but when you become an old spinster like me, nature has more influence than one may prefer.’

                ‘You must be joking. You’re a far way from such status.’

                ‘…That’s a good answer, Fareeha.’ Angela giggled, but she could see that look in this woman’s eyes again. Fareeha was trying to understand below the surface on display, and truthfully, it scared the doctor. She didn’t want to let anyone in. Other than that one mistake she had made, she hadn’t failed since. She was a guarded soul, and life was much simpler that way. What Mercy wanted to do with her time had no space for intimate friends or romantic relationships. Once she was working with Overwatch again, she would do everything in her power to distance herself from anyone and everything. Saving as many people as possible; that was her goal. She didn’t want or need help beyond the practical. Her emotions were her own. They always would be.

                Fareeha’s phone beeped as the two women checked out of their hotel, Fareeha’s suitcase in tow and temporarily swung to the side of the road so that she could check her messages.

                ‘What does it say?’

                ‘Hm? Oh. Just relaying the coordinates of our rendezvous point.’

                ‘Ah. Then our tiny vacation is over?’

                ‘It would seem that way.’

                ‘How unfortunate. I was enjoying myself.’

                ‘Were you?’ Fareeha poked at her device, possibly deleting the information for security’s sake. Angela rose her right brow, shaking her head a little.

                ‘What girl doesn’t enjoy purchasing some tastefully expensive pieces of fabric for none to see but herself?’

                ‘By choice.’ Fareeha reminded Mercy, and the older girl laughed.

                ‘We can certainly go with that.’

                ‘I doubt almost any man could resist you, Angela. You must know this by now.’

                ‘And you also know that my expectations as well as standards are rather colossal. Thus, I’m looking forward to my spinning days once I am unable to move about the world as I am now.’ Angela paused, touching her lips playfully with her index finger. ‘Unless _you’re_ willing to humour me with your company should I get lonely at night from here on out.’

                She didn’t know why she constantly felt the need to tease Fareeha. Perhaps because it was so easy. Perhaps to create _more_ distance between the two of them. Perhaps to become more alien to the curious and wondering woman. Whatever the answer, Fareeha’s flushed face was an expected reaction. She was so straight-laced it was hilarious.

                ‘I-I could never…’

                ‘Surely.’ Angela shrugged. ‘It was a joke in poor humour at your expense once again. I’m so wicked at times, aren’t I?’

                ‘At times, yes.’ Fareeha gathered herself back up, and Angela giggled a little more once the girls were on their way through Ilios once again. However, they had barely left their temporary neighbourhood before Fareeha’s phone began ringing. Being the courteous individual that she was, Fareeha pulled over to the side a second time, tapping her device and bringing it to her ear.

                ‘Hello? Winston? Yes. We’re fine.’

                Winston was such a worrywart. With him in charge, Mercy might have to take on a more authoritative role. Unless Jack or Ana returned, it would likely fall on Angela to be the realist, shaping Overwatch’s personnel into efficient and dedicated members. Winston was just too soft sometimes, and that was coming from someone who had dedicated her life to saving others.

                ‘We’re almost at the rendezvous point now. What? What do you mean?’

                Angela watched Fareeha’s face, noticing her strong, impressive features shifting into confusion.

                ‘I see. Yes. I understand. We’ll be careful. I’ll notify you should anything change dramatically. Thank-you.’

                ‘Trouble, it would seem?’ Mercy asked, stepping in close and leaning in to look at Fareeha’s phone.

                ‘Our time of departure concerns Winston. There shouldn’t have been any complications. On his end, everything went through fine. He’s looking into it, but he suspects some information was leaked and Talon is on to us.’

                Angela bit at her thumbnail, glancing about the area. They were leaving the main residential and commercial sector of Ilios. The landscape was becoming more secluded, with less pearl-white buildings to speak of. She could sense the change in the air. Her survival instincts were abuzz, and she wondered if Fareeha felt something similar.

                Suddenly, Angela noted a hand on her shoulder, and she was brought in closer to the taller woman. She could feel Fareeha’s warmth, and blinked rapidly, her face burning slightly.

                ‘Stay close to me, Angela.’

                ‘Y-yes…’ Angela stammered, thrown by the sudden chivalry Fareeha was capable of.

                ‘I’m sorry if it’s a little too personal, but I don’t want a repeat of last time. I _will_ protect you.’

                ‘Don’t you recall?’ Angela forced herself to speak calmly. ‘It takes quite a bit to truly harm me.’

                ‘Despite your ability to heal, you _feel_ the pain, don’t you?’

                ‘Well, yes.’

                ‘Then that is enough. I won’t allow it.’

                Again. Angela didn’t think she was weak to such heroics anymore, but something about Fareeha’s shift in demeanor had quite the effect on the older woman. It was actually somewhat humorous. Only Jack and Lena had ever given Angela a similar sensation, since their courage, strength, and selflessness in battle was unparalleled. If Fareeha were a man, it was quite possible Angela might even _feel_ something for her. In fact, even now…

                ‘…I thank-you.’ Angela mumbled, shuffling alongside Fareeha until they neared the meeting space.

                Indeed, their ride was waiting in a small opening nestled away outside of the city. It was a more advanced transporter from the helicopter that had been used before. This aerial unit utilized more contemporary means of flight travel, implementing gravity engines to initiate a more seamless method of air transportation that was similar to present day advanced city’s modern methods of commuting.

                Fareeha paused along the perimeter of the area, scanning her surroundings and waiting.

                ‘Hello?’ She called out, staying ahead of Mercy and covering her, it seemed.

                There was no response, but Angela could feel eyes on her. Winston’s concerns weren’t misplaced this time. The delay in departure gave Talon time to gather their forces. If another squad ambushed them now, Fareeha and Angela would be in trouble. Should they simply retreat, or…?

                Something clicked, and then the aircraft’s side door began to slide open. Fareeha reached back and touched Angela’s arm, but didn’t turn her head. She was ensuring Mercy was still behind her; protected from whatever came next. This woman was ever vigilant.

                ‘Be cautious, Fareeha.’ Angela demanded, but everything that took place next gave neither Overwatch agent enough time to react in an appropriate manner. A missile exploded mere feet away from both Fareeha and Angela, the Egyptian grabbing hold of Angela and pulling her to the ground, rolling about until they could find some cover.

                Angela exhaled sharply, but before she could gather herself, another explosion erupted, this time much closer. Fareeha held Angela close, but a small shriek escaped her throat, the larger woman thrust forward, jerking Mercy alongside her.

                ‘My rockets…’ Fareeha grunted, placing Angela behind a piece of landscape.

                ‘We should retreat.’

                ‘There isn’t time. Stay here.’

                All hesitation in Fareeha’s voice was gone. She was a warrior now. Angela felt foolish for teasing such a capable individual. Fareeha’s eyes sharpened within her heavy mascara, the tattoo lining one side of her face glimmering. She stood and dashed out, her back singed by the heat of the rocket’s eruption.

                Angela peeked around her protection, and watched in horror as Fareeha used her natural physical prowess to charge forth. It was foolhardy at best, but she was right; with a weapon and bird like that, there was no escaping. Talon punished those who failed, more than likely, and this man wasn’t about to let himself be disgraced.

                More miniature rockets were launched, but Fareeha was managing to evade direct hits, only flinching and circumnavigating her movements as needed. The heat from the explosions must’ve been intense, but the projectiles were somewhat slow, and Fareeha’s agility was quite impressive. She had truly trained herself with dedication, displaying abilities beyond a normal human being’s. She closed the gap between herself and her attacker, but with her progress came greater risk. The rockets were exploding closer and closer, until one seemed to land directly at the woman’s feet, causing Fareeha to be launched backward a couple of metres.

                ‘No…!’ Angela screamed, but Fareeha was up again in another second, and it was then that Mercy understood what the woman had done. Not another rocket was launched, and the figure hanging out the side of the plane threw the piece of equipment down, hastily drawing a gun and firing. Fareeha flinched as the shot bit through her shoulder, it seemed, but by then, she was on her assailant, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him out of the aircraft. The two struggled, but Fareeha was like an animal, her movements sharp and powerful, her elbow cracking the side of the man’s head with a brutal connection. He didn’t move again after that.

                ‘Ugh…!’ Fareeha finally groaned, holding the blood that oozed from her fresh wound.

                Angela pushed out from her cover and ran to her comrade, kneeling at Fareeha’s side and taking her hand away from the bullet’s entrance.

                ‘It…didn’t go through. Damn it…’ Fareeha muttered amidst clenched teeth. Her hair was dishevelled, and her face was moist with sweat. Fareeha’s shins were also exposed, minor burns ravaging her beautiful, bronze skin.

                ‘You were incredible.’ Angela praised earnestly.

                ‘I know my miniature rocket launcher better than any. It was a fight…hah…I knew I could win…’

                ‘Shhh. Take a moment. If we can make our way into our ride I suspect I can make use of the first aid kit within. Can you walk with my assistance?’

                ‘I can do it without.’ Fareeha managed to get up, but it was clear as day to Angela that she was in extreme pain and discomfort. Angela grinned wryly. She was like an entirely different person when it came to fighting.

                ‘I’m sure you can, but you shouldn’t.’ Angela forced herself under Fareeha’s arms, wrapping one hand around the other woman’s firm, but shapely waist. It was muscular, but still rather feminine, like most of Fareeha’s physical and nonphysical characteristics.

                ‘…Fine.’

                Angela eased Fareeha into one of the plane’s seats, finding the first aid kit within a minute. She opened the case and frowned, not terribly impressed by the selection, but seeing all the necessary tools for dealing with a bullet wound. A less skilled doctor would be underwhelmed to the point of being forced to return back into the city, but time was a luxury both women lacked, presumably.

                ‘He was the other pilot. Talon intercepted our way back.’ Fareeha huffed.

                ‘So I observed. The original pilot is likely dead, no?’ Angela withdrew the necessary utensils and shuffled in close to Fareeha, taking one last look at her wounds.

                ‘I would think so…’

                ‘Unfortunate.’ Angela practically whimpered. She realigned her focus. ‘Please remove your shirt for me, Fareeha.’

                The other girl visibly hesitated, but did what she was told without another word. She was wearing a black sports bra, unsurprisingly, and it held her bountiful chest in place rather well. Fareeha’s abdominals truly surprised Angela, for they were perfectly shaped, with enough definition to show the woman’s fitness, but also enough subtlety to prevent them from being too much. Her body was…strangely attractive to Angela, which did more than add a little discomfort to the older woman’s focus.

                ‘You’re rather well built, Fareeha.’ Angela decided to say, attempting to dislodge the bizarre thoughts from her brain.

                ‘O-oh…Um…Thank-you…’

                ‘This might sting a little, but please bear with me.’

                And Angela went to work. She stayed close to Fareeha, smelling a faint trace of the woman’s shampoo and sweat, feeling her quick exhales of restrained pain as Angela expertly dislodged the bullet and cleaned the wound, sealing it together. Angela could feel Fareeha’s skin prickling under her touch, and while this wasn’t completely uncommon for some individuals, Angela _did_ notice how flushed Fareeha’s cheeks had become, her eyes staring away actively.

                After Angela had technically completed her work, she dawdled, finding the sensation of Fareeha’s smooth, dark skin oddly relaxing and comforting somehow. Even the scent of the woman was like a mental salve, and an unspoken of closeness threatened to solidify itself, to Angela’s dismay. The doctor ripped herself away from the looming connection, and began managing Fareeha’s shins, relieved to discover that no major burning had taken place.

                ‘What you did was excessively reckless, Ms. Amari.’ Angela heard herself say, emotion filling her voice in an unfamiliar way.

                ‘I realize this, but I didn’t see many other options.’

                ‘Regardless, you best be more cautious in the future. You are soon to be a valued member of Overwatch. Your abilities in relation to your Raptora Mark VI will truly be valued, and…I would prefer not to see you in such a state again.’

                ‘…Understood.’

                Mercy looked up, and when her eyes met Fareeha’s, the girl flinched away, her gaze evasive as ever.

                It took a few more minutes, but Angela was soon finished, her work expertly enacted.

                ‘Incredible. I feel…quite good.’ Fareeha smiled tentatively.

                ‘Excellent. Now, are you capable of flying this particular aircraft to our destination should we obtain some direction from Winston? We best depart sooner than later considering our friend could wake up at any moment.’

                ‘Agreed.’ Fareeha rotated her arm, grimacing as she did so.

                ‘Careful.’ Angela took hold of the woman, cradling her shoulder gently. It wasn’t a necessary moment of contact, but the doctor found herself doing so anyway. ‘You must allow it to heal; surely you know this. I can’t imagine it’s your first time being injured thus.’

                ‘Of course not.’

                ‘Then take care of yourself; doctor’s orders.’

                Fareeha pursed her lips just a little, and Angela almost grinned at the somewhat adorable sight.

                ‘Fine…’

                ‘Good girl.’

                ‘I’m not a child.’ Fareeha mumbled, and Angela giggled.

                ‘Oh, I am quite aware of that.’ Mercy teased, and the reaction was worth it. ‘Now, shall we contact Winston and be on our way?’


End file.
